dhurandharpaglu

“Mr. Baloch,” said an unfamiliar, accented voice. “Because of your father’s death, we generously gave you extra time, but our patience is running short.”

Uzair’s mouth went dry. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We paid for a shipment of two hundred units and we expect it by Saturday.”

“Units of what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid,” the man said.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kidneys.”

Uzair’s stomach sank.

Fuck. Illegal organ trade. His father had been involved in illegal organ trafficking. Uzair wasn’t sure why he was even surprised anymore. “Look, whatever my father promised, I know nothing about it--”

“I don’t care, kid,” the guy said gruffly. “I have buyers lined up. I want my goods. If I don’t get them or you go yapping to the police, I’ll come after your own damn organs.”

He hung up before Uzair could even ask who was speaking.

Twelve hours later, Uzair sat in his father’s former office, his face buried in his hands, frustration, anger, and fear twisting his insides after going through his father’s computer.

He was in over his head. He had hoped to put an end to Baloch Industries’ shady side of business quickly and painlessly—he had no intention of following in his father’s footsteps—but it was easier said than done. There were apparently obligations his father—and now him in his stead—must fulfill before Uzair could wash his hands of this shit, and he had no idea what to do. His father’s inner circle had never taken Uzair seriously, and they all fucked off somewhere after his father’s death, either lying low or moving on with their lives. Uzair wanted to do the latter too, but first he had to sort out this mess somehow without screwing up, getting himself killed or arrested.

He wished he could just go to the authorities, but he wasn’t naive enough to think the police would be able to find and arrest every single one of his father’s associates. He would be dead within weeks if he did that. Not to mention that he didn’t want the company’s name dragged through the mud, which would inevitably happen if people found out about his father’s illegal dealings.

Angry tears sprang to his eyes, and he brushed them away briskly. God, he’d never hated his dad more. It wasn’t enough that he had been a shitty person and a shitty dad; he had to get himself killed and leave this mess after himself.

Two hundred kidneys by Saturday.

A harsh laugh tore out of Uzair’s throat. He was somehow supposed to get two hundred kidneys by Saturday or he would be dead—after what happened to his father, Uzair had little doubt that these people meant business.

He didn’t know what to do.

He was utterly out of his depth. What could he even do?

Unless…

His hands shaking, Uzair pulled out his phone. He brought up his contacts list and scrolled through until he came to the one he needed.

Jaskirat Singh Rangi.

He’d found Jaskirat’s number among his father’s documents a few weeks ago and saved it, hating himself a little for doing it but doing it anyway. Since then, he had tried to delete it several times; he had, really, but something always stopped him. It was a good thing he hadn’t. Rationally, Jaskirat was the only person of his acquaintance who would know what to do in this situation. It was logical to call him. Uzair wasn’t calling him because he wanted to hear Jaskirat’s voice or feel safe or something as pathetic as that.

The phone rang four times before a woman answered. She asked for Uzair’s name and contact information. She told him that she would pass it along to her boss, sounding like she didn’t really believe Jaskirat would call back. Uzair didn’t really believe it, either.

He had half-convinced himself that Jaskirat had no intention of calling him and had likely already left England when his phone went off only a few second after his previous call.

Uzair stared at the screen of his phone for a long moment before taking a deep breath and answering.

“What do you want?” Jaskirat said. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

Uzair turned onto his belly, trying to fight the wave of insecurity. Why would Jaskirat want to help him? “I need your help.”

A pause.

“What with?”

“I got a call this morning,” Uzair said. “Someone is very unhappy they didn’t receive two hundred kidneys my father apparently owed them. And now they’re…”

“Threatening you,” Jaskirat finished for him.

“Yeah,” Uzair said with a short laugh. “Do you, by any chance, have two hundred kidneys lying around?”

It had been a joke—and a bad one—but Jaskirat’s answer was completely serious. “I don’t do any type of human trafficking.”

“That’s…that’s surprisingly decent of you.”

“I hate to disappoint, but it has nothing to do with decency. It’s just more hassle than it’s worth.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Uzair said without much heat. He couldn’t quite muster up the disgust he should have felt at Jaskirat’s unashamed cold-heartedness. He tried not to think what that said about him.

“That’s why you’re calling me,” Jaskirat said, his tone very dry. “Because I’m a terrible person. Nice guys like your Gill could never handle it.”

Uzair’s forehead wrinkled. Was Jaskirat jealous?

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. That’s not all. I looked through his documents, and it looks like the kidneys weren’t the only shipment my father owed to people. It’s…it’s not looking good.” Uzair closed his eyes. “I’m so out of my depth,” he admitted quietly. What was it about Jaskirat that made it so easy to admit weakness? “I just wanted to move on with my life. But now I must figure out how to deal with those people, how to get them off my back.”

“You want me to do it for you,” Jaskirat said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Uzair said, trying to keep his voice firm and business-like. “I didn’t tell anyone it was you who kidnapped me. You owe me, Jaskirat. If you don’t help me, I will tell MI6 it was you.”

Jaskirat laughed, sounding deeply amused. “My fluffy kitten has claws.”

There was a squirmy sensation in his stomach. “Stop calling me that,” Uzair said, pressing his flushed cheek to his pillow. “Will you help me or not?”

Even without seeing him, he could sense Jaskirat’s smile fading.

“First off, I don’t owe you anything, love,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t ask you to lie to the authorities for me. And you should know better. Threatening me isn’t the best way to get me to do something.”

Uzair’s chest tightened. “Are you saying you won’t help?”

“I’m saying I’ll need a better incentive than that.”

His mouth was suddenly very dry, his heart thudding somewhere up his throat. “What do you want?”

“Twenty percent of Baloch Industries.”

Uzair’s eyes flew open. He let out a laugh. “You think I’m crazy? I’m not letting you anywhere near my company.”

“Why not?” Amusement tinged Jaskirat’s voice again.

“I want to get rid of any illegal dealings of my company. Letting you in is very counterproductive to that.”

“Sweetheart,” Jaskirat said, his voice so low and intimate that it made Uzair shiver. “You do realize that about seventy percent of my business is completely legal, right?”

Uzair’s brows furrowed. That was news to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t want you anywhere near my company.” Anywhere near me. “So choose something else.”

There was silence on the line, heavy and loaded. “I’m afraid you don’t have anything I’m interested in,” Jaskirat said at last. “Either agree to my price or there’s no deal.”

“No deal, then,” Uzair said, as pleasantly as he could, and hung up. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the stupid, illogical hurt clawing in his chest. Of course Jaskirat didn’t give a shit about him. Of course. Jaskirat cared only about his own gain.

His phone rang again. Uzair glared at it but picked up.

“You stubborn little—” Jaskirat said in a low, furious hiss. “People your father had dealings with aren’t to be crossed. If you don’t agree to my conditions and let me deal with them, you will meet the same end as your idiot of a father.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not from me,” Jaskirat bit out.

The hurt in Uzair’s chest eased, warmth spreading through him. Uzair told himself not to be an idiot, but he couldn’t stop a smile tugging at his lips. “Careful, you almost sound like you’re worried for me.”

“Twenty percent,” Jaskirat said, his tone positively icy.

“No,” Uzair murmured, his heart beating like mad. Jaskirat wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to appear. A thrill ran through him at the realization, even though he knew it didn’t change a damn thing. Even if Jaskirat did feel something for him, it wouldn’t go anywhere. They were a terrible fit for each other. Jaskirat didn’t want what he wanted in life. But…but it felt so good to know that he wasn’t the only one, that Jaskirat was as affected as him. It made him feel powerful, which was kind of ironic, considering that he’d never felt so submissive with any other man. Maybe people who said that there was power in submission were right. And maybe it was cold-hearted and ruthless to use this…this mutual attraction for his benefit, but Uzair was sick of having no control. As long as he didn’t lose his heart in the process, it should be fine. Right?

“I need you,” he said honestly. It was embarrassing how honest he was being. “I need you so much.”

There was dead silence on the line.

The longer it lasted, the more self-conscious Uzair felt, heat spreading over his face.

Then he heard Jaskirat exhale. “What happened to your perfect boyfriend?”

“He was never my boyfriend,” Uzair said. “Turns out he’s not that perfect after all. He has someone else he puts first. He can’t give me what I want.”

“I can’t give you what you want, either,” Jaskirat said testily.

“No,” Uzair agreed. “But you can give me what I need.”

Jaskirat sucked in a breath. “I’m not sorting out your father’s mess for a pair of dimples and a pretty mouth.” His tone was harsh, but Uzair wasn’t fooled.

Closing his eyes, he whispered, nothing but raw honesty in his voice, “I’m scared. I need you to make it better. Make it better.”

Jaskirat swore in Russian and hung up.

---------

As the private lift took him to the penthouse, Jaskirat wondered grimly if he was losing his mind. Was he really letting a few soft-spoken words get to him? Had he really cancelled his flight to Italy for an opportunity to…to do what, exactly? He couldn’t believe he was letting a twenty-three-year-old kid sway him so easily only by saying he needed him. Fucking unbelievable.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a spacious living room.

A lone figure stood opposite the lift, leaning against the back of the couch. Uzair had his arms hugging his chest, his shoulders stiff, his brown eyes wide, curls framing his heart-shaped face.

The room was eerily quiet as Jaskirat walked toward him. Uzair watched him like a prey would watch an approaching predator. It was pretty damn ironic. Jaskirat felt like he was the one caught and pulled toward the deceivingly harmless prey.

He came to a halt a few inches away from the boy, crowding him against the back of the couch.

Uzair swallowed audibly, his lips parting. Jaskirat lifted his gaze from them to the dark eyes and cupped Uzair’s cheek, his thumb resting against his throat. He felt a shudder run through the boy and felt his own body stiffen in more ways than one, the pull tugging him toward Uzair and tightening its hold on him.

“You said you needed me. What for?” His voice was quiet, but it sounded harsh and sharp in the utter silence of the room.

“I…” Uzair swayed toward him.

They glared at each other, their uneven breathing getting louder, then mixing, the distance between them disappearing. With a small whimper, Uzair buried his face in Jaskirat’s neck, his sharp teeth sinking into his skin. The next thing Jaskirat knew, he had his arms around the boy as Uzair sucked on his neck like a hungry baby. Jaskirat’s cock twitched. Baby. It reminded him of the last time they’d had sex, what Uzair had called him, how much Uzair had needed him. It had been heady. Fuck, Jaskirat hadn’t even been into that sort of thing until Uzair had whispered the word ‘Sir.’

“Shhh,” he said, burying his fingers in the silky curls and tugging hard. Uzair moaned, grinding against Jaskirat’s thigh, his hands slipping under Jaskirat’s shirt, stroking his chest as he continued to suck on his neck.

“Look at me,” Jaskirat said.

Uzair sighed and lifted his head.

Christ. The way he looked…Glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, cherry pink, trembling lips… Jaskirat wanted to lick him all over and eat him whole.

He inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip, trying to gather some semblance of self-control. It was impossible when all he wanted was to peel Uzair’s clothes off, sink into him, and breathe.

The sound of a zipper being undone broke the silence and then smooth fingers wrapped around Jaskirat’s engorged cock, pulling it out of his boxers.

Hissing through his teeth, Jaskirat didn’t look down, continuing to look into Uzair’s glazed eyes.

Uzair wet his lips with his tongue, his hand squeezing Jaskirat’s erection. “I need you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please.”

Groaning, Jaskirat kissed those trembling lips, and everything else became irrelevant, everything but this boy and his sweet, obscene mouth.

When the haze of desire cleared from his mind a little, he found them already in bed and he was pushing inside Uzair. The tightness around him was almost unbearable. It brought him some much needed clarity

“Did I prep you?” he managed, locking his muscles in place. He couldn’t fucking remember.

Uzair laughed breathlessly, blushing. “A little. I’m good. No condom, though.”

“Mat tvoiu,(Fuck)” Jaskirat swore and forced himself to pull out.

“Wait,” Uzair said. He looked up at Jaskirat, his gaze heavy-lidded. “Can I trust you?”

The question felt loaded, the answer more complicated than he wanted it to be.

Breathing hard, Jaskirat considered his answer, gathering all his willpower not to throw the boy’s legs over his shoulders and pound into him like a savage. He wanted it—wanted to fuck him without a rubber, wanted to come inside him and fill him up until the boy was dripping and then some. But Uzair wasn’t asking just about sex.

“You can,” he said, holding Uzair’s gaze.

Uzair shuddered. His legs, sprawled open with Jaskirat between them, spread even wider, and he hooked his ankles around Jaskirat’s hips, pulling him closer. “Okay, then. I’ve never done this without a condom before, but I want to. Don’t stop—Oh God.”

Gritting his teeth, Jaskirat pushed in a little deeper, the tight heat enveloping him, and goddammit, it felt...Uzair made a whimpering sound, dark eyes glazed, cheeks pink and lips swollen and slack as he panted. Christ, the boy looked completely gone already.

“Good?” Jaskirat said, and Uzair nodded dazedly, his cock lying heavy and full against his belly, flushed dark and wet at the tip. Jaskirat wanted to touch it but knew it would be too much right now: the boy looked overstimulated already.

He watched himself disappear in Uzair’s hole, fascinated by the sight of his thick cock splitting him open. Holding Uzair steady by the hips, he slid in all the way, slick heat all around him and so tight it was driving him insane.

Uzair grabbed at a fistful of duvet. “God, God, oh God.” He looked totally wrecked, his teeth chewing at his bottom lip, his dark eyes watering. “More,” he choked out, and Jaskirat drew his hips back a little before thrusting back in, dragging his cock against Uzair’s prostate. Uzair whined, arching under him. Jaskirat did it again, his eyes fixed on Uzair’s face, which was sweaty, wild, completely dazed, and beautiful. The boy looked drugged, like he was high off of it, off the feeling of Jaskirat’s cock stretching him open, rocking back and forth, driving in deep.

Jaskirat stroked Uzair’s thighs, holding them apart, thumbs pressed into the tender skin on the inside. He started thrusting harder, low grunts leaving his throat. Uzair gazed up at him with those wide eyes, his raven curls damp and dark with sweat plastered to his forehead, his cock leaking pre-come. He moaned brokenly.

“I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—” he croaked out, and Jaskirat didn’t even have time to process it before Uzair shuddered and came untouched onto his chest, cock pulsing and twitching.

Jaskirat could only stare at him. It wasn’t the first time Uzair had come untouched, but it was the first time he came untouched thirty seconds into sex.

Groaning, Uzair covered his face with his hands. “Oh my God, this is so mortifying,” he mumbled before peeking between his fingers at Jaskirat and starting to giggle madly.

A sudden wave of affection for this ridiculous boy washed over him.

“Sorry, I swear I’m not actually thirteen,” Uzair managed between bouts of giggles.

Jaskirat locked his jaw, because Uzair’s laughter caused his inner walls to squeeze around Jaskirat’s cock, which wasn’t helping his self-control at all. Goddammit. How could this boy look so incredibly endearing and make him want to fuck him up so badly?

Probably taking his silence for something it wasn’t, Uzair stopped laughing. “Are you actually annoyed?” he said, a note of uncertainty appearing in his voice.

“Don’t be silly,” Jaskirat said, breathing deeply through his gritted teeth. “It’s fine.”

“Really?”

Jaskirat rubbed Uzair’s come into his soft belly in circling motions. “You look beautiful when you’re desperate for it,” he said, staring hungrily at the flushed young man under him. “You were perfect, kitten.” Jaskirat blamed his dick for all this sentimental nonsense coming out of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he said, stroking Uzair’s cock.

Uzair’s eyes glazed over, his cock starting to harden again. “It’s just been so long since we did this.”

Jaskirat pulled out slowly and pushed back in. “Good,” he said and set a steady rhythm, watching Uzair’s expression turn dreamy and far away. “You didn’t let anyone touch you. Such a good boy.”

Uzair smiled at the praise, his eyelids heavy as he moved to meet Jaskirat’s thrusts. “Wanted only you. I missed y—this.”

The words jolted through his body. Jaskirat knew this was a dangerous road to go down, but he didn’t know how to stop this train-wreck.

Scooping Uzair into his arms, he rolled onto his back. “Ride me, kotyonok,(Kitty)” he said, hands running over Uzair’s chest, tweaking the pink nipples.

Uzair nodded eagerly, looking down at him through hooded eyes, his curls in disarray, his expression completely open and lovestruck. Jaskirat stared back at him, hoping he didn’t have a similar look on his face. Shit, the way this boy affected him was ridiculous. He couldn’t drag his gaze away as Uzair rode him languidly, his dark eyes becoming more unfocused as Jaskirat murmured praises about how well he was doing, how perfect Uzair felt around him, how perfect he was.

Before long, Uzair seemed completely zoned out, just sitting on Jaskirat’s cock and swaying dazedly. Waheguru.

Jaskirat sat up and, pulling Uzair tightly to his chest, bucked his hips up, driving his aching cock hard inside the boy’s pliant body, causing Uzair to moan against the side of Jaskirat’s neck and cling to him.

It went on for a long while, with Jaskirat fucking the boneless body in his arms. At some point, Uzair groaned and sank his teeth into his neck, coming all over Jaskirat’s chest and stomach, and Jaskirat finally let go, his orgasm ripping through him with full-body shudders as he spilled inside Uzair.

When his head cleared a little, Jaskirat found that he had the boy cradled against his chest, his fingers carding through the moist curls. Uzair was nuzzling into his collarbone, all but purring. He really was such a kitten.

“Why is it always so good with you?” Uzair mumbled, still sounding half out of it. “Like, I feel like I’m in heaven when I give all control to you. It feels so, so good. Wanna feel this forever.”

Jaskirat reminded himself that Uzair didn’t know what he was saying: he was still riding high on the afterglow.

Uzair sighed. “Dr. Jan’s wrong,” he muttered into Jaskirat’s neck. “I totally have Stockholm syndrome. I need help.”

“Then what do I have?” Jaskirat said. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

Uzair lifted his head and looked at him unblinkingly, his plump lips forming an O.

Resisting the urge to avert his gaze, Jaskirat wondered if the boy’s sentimental foolishness was contagious.

Uzair bit his lip but failed to suppress his smile. “Well, I’ve been told I’m very likable,” he said, as if sharing a huge secret, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

Jaskirat wanted to kiss it.

“This is not amusing,” he said tersely. “This is… an inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience,” Uzair repeated, eyeing him curiously. “You mean your…attraction to me?”

Attraction. The word didn’t feel adequate. Jaskirat nodded nevertheless. He saw little point in denying the attraction; it would be pointless, considering where his cock still was.

Uzair pulled a funny face. “I’ll have you know this attraction to you is extremely inconvenient for me, too,” he said and looked at Jaskirat expectantly—trustingly. “What are we going to do about it, then?”

Goddammit, was the boy even aware of the way he looked at him? Jaskirat would like to say that Uzair’s lovesick looks bothered him or amused him, but that would be a lie.

The truth was, he didn’t mind.

The truth was, he fucking liked it.

He liked it.

The truth was, he wanted his boy to keep looking at him that way— his boy. Jesus Christ. His own possessiveness made him cringe.

“You used to make me really nervous when you got this look on your face,” Uzair said amicably.

Jaskirat slid his hands down the graceful curve of Uzair’s back and settled them on his cheeks. “Are you saying I don’t make you nervous anymore?” Few people in the world could claim such a thing.

Uzair smiled crookedly. “You do. Just in a different way.” He seemed to hesitate before admitting, embarrassment colouring his voice, “You aren’t blind. It would be pretty pointless to deny I get off on pleasing you. I get anxious if I don’t.” Uzair rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s pretty inconvenient. Can’t wait to get cured of this.”

“Cured,” Jaskirat repeated.

“Of my Stockholm syndrome,” Uzair clarified serenely.

Jaskirat felt a hot, irrational spike of displeasure. “Good luck with that,” he said, lifting Uzair and depositing him on the bed before getting to his feet. He reached for his boxers on the floor and slipped into them.

“You’re leaving already?”

Jaskirat looked back.

There was an unhappy wrinkle between Uzair’s brows, the corners of his lips turned downward.

“What do you want me here for?” Jaskirat said. “I’m sure your therapist would tell you that spreading your legs for your former captor isn’t conducive to getting cured.”

A rosy blush appeared on Uzair’s cheekbones. He chewed on his lip. “What about the threats I’ve been getting? I really need your help.”

Jaskirat knew the sort of people Baloch had dealings with. They would eat this baby-faced young man alive. He wished he could say he didn’t care. He did. There was no rational reason for that, no logical motive. He just did. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t see this softspoken, head-in-the-clouds, sentimental boy as anything but his. It was frustrating, because Jaskirat didn’t want to want any claim of that sort.

“I’ll deal with it,” he said curtly.

Uzair beamed at him, his eyes bright, dimples in full force.

For fuck’s sake.

“Now?” Uzair said hopefully, eagerness and longing written all over his face. “I have everything on my laptop here.” Don’t go, Uzair’s eyes said. Don’t go, his body said.

It would have been cringe-inducing if Jaskirat didn’t feel the same irresistible pull toward him. Only, unlike Uzair, he couldn’t conveniently claim being affected by any sort of syndrome.

“Get the laptop,” he bit off and sat down on the bed.

When Uzair brought his laptop to the bed and snuggled up against him, Jaskirat didn’t push him away.

He should have. The boy was a menace.

THANKYOU FOR READING!!!!

Dr. Ulfat Jan was a middle-aged woman with intelligent brown eyes framed by a thin pair of glasses. Her office was tastefully decorated and yet managed to look comfortable and homey. Uzair felt instantly at ease when she smiled and invited him to take a seat.

For half an hour, she simply listened without interrupting him as he stumbled through his story. He told her everything. There was little point to seek a psychologist’s help if one didn’t intend to be honest.

Ulfat’s face was mildly sympathetic as Uzair described his problem, but, to his disappointment and confusion, she didn’t immediately agree that he had Stockholm syndrome.

“While I do agree that the isolation and the obvious power imbalance in your relationship with your kidnapper couldn’t be healthy for you, you do not display the typical behaviour of someone with the syndrome,” she said. “You are not making excuses for your captor. You don’t think he’s actually a good guy. You were able to escape. Every case is different, of course, but victims of Stockholm syndrome typically don’t even want to be rescued.” Her eyes held no judgment when she added softly, “As for the power imbalance in your relationship, I understand that it stemmed from your sexual preferences, didn’t it?”

Uzair could only stutter and blush. He’d never really discussed his sexual fantasies and kinks with anyone other than Jaskirat; talking about them with a woman who was his mother’s age was kind of embarrassing.

“Did you use safewords?” Ulfat said.

Biting his lip, Uzair nodded.

“Why do you think he gave you safewords instead of taking what he wants?”

Uzair shrugged. “He told me he wasn’t into raping anyone, and I do believe him, but he probably also wanted to make me trust him.”

She smiled. “That’s what I mean, Uzair: you’re capable of critical thinking when it comes to your captor, you question his motives instead of trusting him without reservation. That’s very good. That’s healthy.”

Uzair cringed a little. “But I did trust him, at least in bed. He made me feel safe enough to…” His skin warmed.

Ulfat didn’t seem fazed at all. “To roleplay rape scenes with him?”

Uzair had never felt so mortified in his life. “Um…”

The look Ulfat gave him was kind and a little amused. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. A lot of the time, people’s fantasies lie outside the boundaries of what they believe they should feel, outside of what they think is normal. Rape fantasy or forced seduction fantasy is actually one of the most common sexual fantasies among both men and women. As long as both parties have given their consent and use safewords, there’s nothing wrong with such roleplaying.” She paused, regarding him calmly. “The fact that you felt safe enough with your captor to do that does indicate a degree of trust one doesn’t normally feel toward one’s captor, though. Can you explain why you trusted him?”

Uzair shrugged, searching for words. “I—I don’t know. He did scare me in the beginning, but he was also…different from his men. I’ve always been a pretty good judge of character. I could tell he was cool-headed enough not to resort to physical violence without good reason.” He brushed a hand through his curls. He hadn’t straightened them that morning. He still wasn’t sure why. Clearing his throat, Uzair continued, “Until his arrival, the guards sort of used me as a punching bag when they got drunk. He put an end to that, moved me to a comfy room, gave me food and…yeah.”

Ulfat frowned a little. “And you started seeing him as your rescuer?”

Uzair chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that was his objective. I mean, he never told me how he was going to use me, but I’m sure he wanted to manipulate me into needing him and trusting him. I figured if he was trying to make me trust him, it wasn’t in his interests to hurt me in the foreseeable future. In a twisted sort of way, the fact that I was suspicious of him made me feel safe with him physically. And well…” He dropped his gaze and cleared his throat again, looking at his fingers. “I was so attracted to him that I had trouble thinking. It was all instinct, to be honest.”

“I see,” she said, without any judgment in her voice. “Have you ever entertained thoughts of being in a relationship with him?”

Uzair froze.

“Of course not,” he said after a moment, still looking down at his hands.

“Uzair,” she said. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you being entirely honest now?”

“I am being honest,” he said sharply.

She said nothing.

He took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he said, wincing. “It’s just…He and I…we…I always knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He’s everything I don’t want. My father was just like him: always busy, distant, cold-hearted, and manipulative. He never had time for my mother or me. We were basically strangers to each other. I don’t want that for my kids. I want love. I want a loving, attentive husband who will put me first. Someone who will take care of me.” He felt immense embarrassment as soon as he said that. Now Ulfat had probably guessed that he had a Sir kink on top of his other weird kinks.

“You mentioned you’re dating someone,” she said.

“Sort of,” Uzair said, relieved by the change of subject. “Shubhman. He’s great. I mean, we’re not official yet or anything, but we’ve been on a few dates. We have common interests. He wants the same things as me.”

“I see.” She looked pensive. “Do you feel safe with him?”

Uzair nodded. “Sure, he’s been very supportive and attentive.”

“Would you say you trust him enough to roleplay rape?”

Uzair blanched. “What—” he said before coughing. “I’ve known him only for a month. It’s a bit early. We haven’t even done anything besides kissing.”

Ulfat nodded, her expression unreadable. “Very well. I think that’s enough for today, Uzair.”

“What?” he said, blinking. “But—but you didn’t do anything to…” Cure me of him.

She raised her eyebrows, looking at him.

“I have Stockholm syndrome,” Uzair said hoarsely. “Make it go away. Please.”

Sympathy flickered through her face. “As I said, yours is not a clearcut case of Stockholm syndrome. You kept your sense of self. You weren’t delusional about his motives. You wanted to escape and you did. You’re trying to move on with your personal life instead of fixating on your captor. You’re convinced he’s all wrong for you. You’re capable of seeing his faults clearly.” She smiled. “You don’t need my help, Uzair. You’re strong.”

I’m not, he thought as he left her office. I’m really not.

Maybe he should have told Ulfat that instead of trusting the guy he’d been sort of dating, Uzair kept thinking of Jaskirat and what he had said about Shubhman. He had honestly tried not to think of Jaskirat’s warning, but he couldn’t. For all of Jaskirat’s flaws, he’d never outright lied to him. Why would Jaskirat even lie about Shubhman? For what purpose?

That was how Uzair found himself ringing the doorbell of Shubhman’s house later that day, even though its owner was still in Japan.

He looked around. He hadn’t been to Shubhman’s place before. It was a nice, picturesque house in a great neighbourhood. Uzair could easily imagine living here. He could easily imagine a couple of sweet kids playing in the garden.

The door swung open.

Uzair blinked.

The guy—a boy, really—who stood on the other side was pretty cute. Slim, tall and leggy, he had messy, dark hair, pale skin and large, catlike black eyes with the longest eyelashes Uzair had ever seen. He couldn’t be older than eighteen, but then again, Uzair knew first-hand how deceiving appearances could be.

Something like recognition flickered in the depths of the raven head’s eyes. “Shubhman isn’t home,” the boy said before shutting the door in Uzair’s face .

Blinking, Uzair thought for a moment before ringing the bell again.

“I must have confused the date of his return,” he said after the door opened. He smiled brightly at the boy. “I’m Uzair. I didn’t know Shubhman had a relative living with him.”

The boy scoffed. “I’m not his relative. And I know who you are.”

Uzair cocked his head to the side. “Then you have me at a disadvantage, mate.”

“I’m Ishan,” the boy said, his Black eyes flashing. “I live here.”

That much was pretty obvious.

“Care to elaborate?” Uzair said, still smiling faintly, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the hostility coming off the boy in waves. Either the kid was naturally grumpy or he had something against Uzair in particular. Uzair was inclined to think it was the latter.

“No.” The door slammed in Uzair’s face again.

Right.

Uzair turned around and headed to his car.

Later that evening, when Shubhman Skyped him, Uzair decided to bring it up.

“I got the date mixed up and went to your house this afternoon,” Uzair said. “I met Ishan.”

Shubhman’s relaxed posture didn’t change. He smiled, though there was some surprise on his face. “You met Ishu? He didn’t mention it when I talked to him.”

“Yeah,” Uzair said. “You never mentioned you didn’t live alone.”

Shubhman exhaled, studying his face. “I didn’t mention it because it wasn’t easy to explain. Some people take it the wrong way.”

Uzair smiled crookedly. “I like to think I’m not just ‘some people.’”

“I hope you won’t be,” Shubhman said, his dark eyes hooded as they dropped to Uzair’s lips. “I like the hair, by the way. I didn’t even know you were so curly.”

The desire in Shubhman’s gaze made Uzair a little uncomfortable. He told himself the discomfort would go away after he allowed Shubhman more than a few chaste kisses. Though, the fact that he didn’t feel particularly guilty for kissing Jaskirat yesterday was pretty worrying. He didn’t feel like he had done anything wrong.

“When I first met Ishan,” Shubhman started, returning his gaze to Uzair’s eyes, “he was a homeless, half-starved child. I took him home. I gave him a home.” He shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Oh,” Uzair said. “That’s…extremely kind.”

Shubhman shook his head. “Not really. You would have done the same thing if you’d seen him back then.”

“You said some people took it the wrong way. Why?”

Shubhman’s handsome face distorted into a grimace. “Because people have their minds in the gutter. Yes, I know it looks strange. He lives with me, I’m open about my sexuality, and I’m a lot older than him. We aren’t related, yet I pay for his schooling—I pay for his everything—so of course people start assuming some bullshit. Ishu’s straight, and he’s a kid, and I’m not a fucking paedophile, but some people still think I’m his sugar daddy.” Shubhman chuckled, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Uzair didn’t laugh with him.

“Are you sure you are not?” he murmured. “If I understand correctly, a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship isn’t necessarily sexual.”

Shubhman’s smile faded. “I’m sure,” he said, a hint of steel appearing in his voice. “Ishan doesn’t stay with me because of my money. I’m his family.”

“Sorry,” Uzair said, trying not to show his surprise. It was the first time Shubhman was anything but gentle and considerate around him. “I’m asking only because he didn’t seem happy to see me. He looked…a bit threatened.”

Shubhman sighed, running a hand over his face. “Ishu is insecure. He thinks I’ll get rid of him when I start my own family.” He looked Uzair in the eye. “He’s wrong. He’s not going anywhere, no matter what anyone thinks.”

Hint taken.

Uzair forced a smile and wrapped up the conversation, claiming tiredness. He closed Skype and sagged back against his pillows, frowning deeply. He hadn’t just imagined Shubhman warning him in no uncertain terms that Ishan’s presence in his house was non-negotiable even if they were to get serious. And Jaskirat had implied that things weren’t as innocent as Shubhman had made them out to be.

For God’s sake.

Uzair groaned, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. Why did he trust Jaskirat’s words over Shubhman’s? He shouldn’t draw hasty conclusions. If Shubhman was protective of the homeless kid he’d given a home to, it was only admirable. Surely it said good things about his character. It showed he would be a great, caring father one day. Shubhman was perfect. He was being silly doubting it. As soon as Shubhman returned from Japan, which was tomorrow, Uzair should say yes: that he would like to enter into a relationship with him. Delaying it was pointless.

Decision made, he closed his eyes and hoped for no more dreams.

But the dreams came.

In his dream, he was sitting cross-legged in Shubhman’s charming little garden. A child’s giggling reached his ears. Uzair grinned, watching a chubby, dark-haired toddler run toward him with outstretched arms. Uzair caught him, laughing, and lifted the adorable little boy above his head. The toddler squealed, his Light Green eyes lighting up with delight.

--------

The next day didn’t start well for Uzair. He spent most of the morning in his father’s office—he still couldn’t think of it as his own—dealing with things that required his immediate attention and stoically ignoring the condescending and distrusting looks on his older employees’ faces. It wasn’t easy, considering the glaring fact that some things about the way the company was run didn’t make much sense, which probably had a lot to do with the unofficial side of his father’s business. That gave him a headache. Any investigation on his part could open up a whole can of worms Uzair wasn’t sure he was equipped to handle right now.

Finally, sick and tired of all the intricate manoeuvring, Uzair left the company’s office in late afternoon and headed for Shubhman’s house again. Shubhman was supposed to arrive any minute now and Uzair wanted to be there when he did.

Uzair would have liked to say that he just couldn’t wait to see Shubhman, but that wasn’t true. Before committing himself to anything, he wanted to see Shubhman interact with Ishan. Because, no matter what he told himself, something about the whole thing made him uneasy. Contrary to Jaskirat’s opinion on him, Uzair wasn’t a naive boy with his head in the clouds—not anymore. Yes, he still believed in the inherent goodness of people, and he would always be an optimist at heart, but after his fiasco of a relationship with Neville, who had turned out to be married, he would be an idiot to trust so blindly again.

When Uzair got out of his car, he found Ishan sitting on the porch of Shubhman’s house, with a cigarette between his lips.

“Hi,” Uzair said, walking over to the boy.

Ishan stretched out his long legs in front of him, basically blocking the porch. Deep Black eyes looked at Uzair sharply. “Shubhman isn’t home yet.”

“I know,” Uzair said, studying the boy. “But he should be back within the next half hour.”

“He’ll be exhausted after the long flight,” Ishan said.

Uzair almost laughed. The kid’s blatant dislike of him was kind of hilarious. And Ishan truly was a kid—he might be broader in the shoulders than Uzair, but there was no way he was a day older than eighteen, perhaps even younger.

“I feel like I’ve killed your puppy or something,” Uzair said mildly, smiling a little. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had disliked him so much. “What did I do to you?”

Ishan took a drag from his cigarette. “I don’t like pretty-faced, rich dickheads who use Shubhman and lead him on. He deserves better.”

Uzair frowned and cocked his head. “I’m not using him.”

“Please,” Ishan said, scoffing. “When I lived on the streets, I saw a lot of stuff, you know. I’ve learned to read people. I’ve seen the pictures of you with Shubhman. You never look like you’re attracted to him, like you’re fond of him. There’s something jaded and calculating as fuck about the way you look at him. Obviously you can’t be after his money.” He eyed Uzair. “I can’t figure out what you’re after, but I don’t trust you.”

Uzair crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m not using him,” he repeated, though he was aware he no longer sounded so certain. It was true that he’d chosen Shubhman with his mind, not his heart, but was that such a bad thing? He was sick of getting his dreams crushed again and again. Clearly his heart had no clue what was good for him. And it wasn’t like he had misled Shubhman at any point: he’d told Shubhman he would become his boyfriend only when he was absolutely sure that was what he wanted. Until then, they were just casually dating.

“Aren’t you?” Ishan said, arching his dark eyebrows. “Are you claiming you have, like, feelings for him? Please.”

Uzair gave him a flat look. Who did this kid think he was? “No, I’m not saying I have any deep feelings, but I really doubt he has deep feelings for me, either. We like each other, we’ve been dating for a month, but with the death of my father, we’ve barely had time to date properly and fall in love. That’s not how adult relationships work, Ishan.”

The boy huffed. “So you’ve never wanted anyone badly enough that you didn’t care how long you’d known them?”

Averting his eyes, Uzair rubbed the back of his neck. “Physical attraction and love aren’t the same thing.”

“Unless you’re asexual, and I know you aren’t, there can’t be Romantic love without physical attraction,” Ishan countered. “And if you really wanted him, you wouldn’t string him along for a month. Shubh is a catch.” The kid looked offended on Shubhman’s behalf. It was oddly adorable.

Before Uzair could say anything, there was the sound of a car pulling over.

Ishan’s entire face lit up, his green eyes sparkling—fucking sparkling. Uzair didn’t have to guess who had just arrived.

“Shubh!” Ishan sprang to his feet and ran toward the tall man who was getting out of the car. Ishan stumbled, his legs endearingly clumsy, reminding Uzair of a baby cat.

Shubhman took his sunglasses off and grinned, opening his arms just as Sam collided into him and hugged the older man enthusiastically.

“Okay, let me look at you,” Shubhman said, pulling back to look at the boy. “Have you grown another inch in a week? At this rate, you’ll be taller than me soon.”

“I missed you!” Ishan announced, giving him another hug.

A soft smile curled Shubhman’s sensual lips. He hugged back, dropping a kiss on top of the boy’s head. “Me, too, Ishu,” he said, his voice brimming with affection.

Uzair watched them with a tight feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy. It was worse. It was disappointment and envy.

Shubhman finally noticed Uzair and smiled at him over Ishan’s shoulder. It was a different smile from the one he’d given Ishan. He was clearly pleased to see Uzair and appreciated what he was seeing, but that was about it.

Uzair smiled back faintly. “Hi.”

Shubhman let go of the boy in his arms and strode toward him. “Hey. I was planning to call you. Didn’t expect you to meet me here. Not that I’m unhappy to see you.” He leaned down to brush Uzair’s lips with his, but Uzair turned his head so the kiss landed on his cheek. Shubhman pulled back, frowning slightly. “All right?”

Uzair wrapped his arms around his own chest. “I…I don’t think I want to be your boyfriend.”

A crease formed between Shubhman’s brows. “Can I ask why?”

Pushing his fringe out of his eyes, Uzair shrugged uncomfortably. “I just…I’ve had my share of bad relationships. My first boyfriend turned out to be married with kids. My second boyfriend ditched me for someone kinkier when I refused to do some of the things he wanted to do. The third freaked out and dumped me when I told him I didn’t really do casual and wanted a family at some point. The fourth freaked out when he found out who my father was.” He gave Shubhman a crooked smile. “And my father always had far more important things to do than to be a dad for me. You probably get the picture now.”

Shubhman’s dark eyes were pensive. “You want a man completely committed to you,” he said.

“I want a man who will listen and hear my thoughts, a man who will put me first in his life and take care of me,” Uzair said quietly, feeling a pang of regret. “I really like you, Shubhman, but it looks like you aren’t that man, either.”

Shubhman glanced toward Ishan, who was watching them with badly hidden concern. “Is this about Ishu? It’s not what it looks like. He’s just a child.”

“He isn’t a child,” Uzair said with a laugh. “Open your eyes. He’s only about five or six years younger than me.” He shook his head. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. Even if it really isn’t what it looks like, he’s extremely important to you. And maybe it’s selfish of me, but I’m sick of getting crumbs of someone’s attention and affections. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. I think I deserve better. Everyone does. You, too.” And I’m not sure I can give you that. Maybe Ishan was right, after all.

Shubhman studied him for a few moments before leaning down and kissing Uzair on the cheek, beside his mouth. “I really like you, Dimples. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Nodding, Uzair stepped away. “Thanks for everything, Shubh,” he said softly. “And sorry if I led you on. I didn’t mean to. I really thought we could work—that I could fall in love with you.” He gave Shubhman a lopsided smile. “You’re kind of everything I’ve looked for in a man. But I’m starting to see it’s not enough. So, yeah, sorry if I unintentionally led you on.”

Shubhman chuckled, white teeth almost blinding against his olive skin. “Having a gorgeous, sweet guy on my arm wasn’t exactly a hardship for me.”

“Flatterer,” Uzair said with a laugh, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go before your Ishu kills me for trying to steal his sugar daddy.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious,” Shubhman said with a sigh.

Uzair just grinned, waved at Ishan, and turned away. He headed to his car, his smile fading with every step he took.

Yeah. Just one more failed relationship. At least this time he had ended it before anyone got hurt.

He wondered if it was time to let go of his dreams of finding the One. It wasn’t that he no longer believed in love. He did. It was obvious Sameer and Dev had a “forever” sort of love. Dev’s eldest Sister, Simi, and her girlfriend Sophie were stupidly in love, too, despite their constant bickering.

It was just…Uzair was beginning to wonder if the One for him even existed. It was starting to feel like it was impossible to find a man who would adore him despite his sentimental personality, who would accept him with all his weird kinks and quirks, who would want to start a family with him, who would put him first when it mattered, and whom Uzair would love with all his heart and body.

Maybe such a man simply didn’t exist. Not for him.

Maybe he was a foolish boy with his head in the clouds, daydreaming while life happened around him and passed him by.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo@hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE-

“Anything interesting?” he said. “Not really,” Yalina replied. “The funeral was three days ago. The British SIS does suspect the Colombian organized crime groups, but there’s no proof so far.”

Jaskirat hummed. “We both know there won’t be. Iqbal isn’t an amateur.”

Yalina raised her eyebrows. “Since when did you become so friendly with him? Last time I checked, you despised him.”

“He has his uses,” Jaskirat said.

An amused smile graced Yalina’s normally serious face. “Yes, to do the dirty work for you, thinking he’s following his own agenda.”

Jaskirat gave her a flat look. “Baloch did dupe him. I simply helped Iqbal find out about it.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, of course.”

That wasn’t worth commenting on, so he didn’t.

“I didn’t think you’d actually have him offed,” Yalina said.

Jaskirat shrugged. “Can’t say I’m upset about Baloch’s death, but I can’t take credit for it. I left it up to Iqbal’s discretion. I don’t have that much influence over him, anyway.” He’d expected Iqbal to merely rough Baloch up, not kill him. It had been a miscalculation on his part.

Perhaps that was why he hadn’t felt any particular satisfaction when he’d been informed of Baloch’s death.

Yalina’s lips twisted. “It’s very rare when I agree with Iqbal. The world is better off without that backstabbing asshole.” Shaking her head, Yalina turned to leave.

“Yalina.”

She stopped and looked at him inquiringly.

Jaskirat’s gaze returned to the photograph of the funeral.

“Find out who that man is,” he said, pushing the newspaper across the desk so that she could see it. “Everything about him.”

“Which one?” Yalina asked, without batting an eye. She was used to far stranger requests. She was a former KGB agent, after all. Very little could faze her.

Jaskirat leaned back in his seat. “The one who has an arm around Baloch’s son.”

She shot him a sharp look.

He met her eyes steadily.

But she didn’t question his orders. She’d always been wiser than Vlad. Although she was the same age as of jaskirat and had known him far longer than Vlad had—her mother had previously been Jaskirat’s father’s bodyguard—Yalina had never allowed herself to speak as freely as Vlad had. Jaskirat knew she was fond of him, but she was a professional to the T.

When Yalina left, Jaskirat pulled the newspaper closer.

He stared at the photograph again.

The boy didn’t look particularly heartbroken by his father’s death. Given what Jaskirat knew about Baloch, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

Uzair looked…different. The raven curls were straightened and tied back, his heart-shaped face pale and blank, his dark eyes serious.

Jaskirat found his hand gripping the armrest.

He dragged his gaze away, shifting it to the tall man who had an arm around the boy’s shoulders and who was whispering something into Uzair’s ear. It looked more than friendly.

Crushing the newspaper in his hand and throwing it into the bin, Jaskirat pressed his lips together.

Baloch was dead. The boy was no longer relevant. Any plans Jaskirat had had concerning the boy were no longer relevant. He didn’t need any information on the man who had his hands on—

Disgusted, Jaskirat cut off his train of thought. Perhaps Vlad had been right after all. This was unacceptable.

His phone rang.

“I’ve found the information you requested,” Yalina said when he answered. “Do you want me to forward the file?”

Sometimes he wished Yalina wasn’t as efficient as she was.

“Jaskirat?” she said when he didn’t reply.

“No,” he said. “Just give me a short summary.”

“Shubhman Gill,” Yalina said. “Twenty-seven, the head of the Risk Management department at Grayguard. It’s the largest financial services company in the UK—”

“I know what Grayguard is,” Jaskirat cut her off. “I’ve met Arthur Grayson. Go on.”

“All in all, he’s made one hell of a career, and he seems to have managed that without making any enemies. Reportedly, he’s firm in his beliefs but quite nice to deal with. He owns a charming house in Kensington and—

“Sexual orientation?” Jaskirat said.

There was silence on the line. At last, Yalina replied, “He’s not promiscuous, but he seems to be gay or bi. In one interview, he mentioned that he’s looking for a serious relationship.”

Jaskirat picked up a lighter from the desk. “The nature of his relationship with Baloch’s son?”

“It seems to be a recent thing,” Yalina said after a moment. “There have been speculations in the British media, but I can’t confirm anything yet—”

“Don’t bother,” Jaskirat said. “It’s not important.”

He hung up and put the phone on the desk, very carefully.

Then, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and flipped the lid of the lighter. Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep drag, and then another.

So the boy had finally found his perfect man. Good for him.

Good.

-------------

One month later

Uzair sat by the pool, watching the brightly illuminated house. He could hear the laughter and music even from here. It was Sameer’s twenty third birthday, and since Sameer was practically living with his boyfriend these days, his birthday was being celebrated at the Khannas’ this year.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Uzair smiled wanly. He was glad for his friend, glad that everything was finally going well in his life. Sameer’s happiness had been hard fought and won. It was nice to see that love this strong really existed and happily-ever-afters weren’t a thing of fairy tales.

Biting his lip, Uzair lifted his eyes to the moon.

He should probably go back inside. But God, he was sick of being on the receiving end of pitying and concerned looks, as if he were terminally ill. He was sick of telling everyone that he was fine. No one believed him, anyway, no matter what he said.

It wasn’t as though Uzair didn’t understand where they all were coming from. As far as everyone was concerned, he’d been through hell in the last few months: first his kidnapping, then his father’s murder barely a month after his escape. It was a lot. It truly was. But he was coping. He was all right. Why couldn’t his friends understand that their pity and excessive concern just weighed him down, reminding him of things he’d rather forget?

Like the fact that it was probably his fault that his father was dead.

Not thinking about it, not thinking about it, not thinking about it.

A movement on the terrace caught his attention. Uzair smiled a little, noticing the two tall figures standing there in each other’s arms. Dev and Sameer were kissing under the full moon, hands in each other’s hair, mouths greedy and tender at the same time. They kissed like they owned each other.

It must be nice to love and feel loved.

Realizing that he was staring at them hungrily, Uzair dragged his eyes away, to the smooth dark surface of the pool. Another burst of laughter came from inside the house. Uzair swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Not for the first time since his return to England, he felt like an outsider among his friends. He didn’t feel like he belonged here.

But then again, he wasn’t sure where he belonged anymore. If he were honest with himself, it might be one of the reasons why he’d latched onto Shubhman so fast. Shubhman hadn’t known him before. He hadn’t known that Uzair was normally much more cheerful and easy-going than he was now. If Uzair went quiet and didn’t feel like talking, Shubhman thought nothing of it. Shubhman had supported him through the hectic, almost surreal weeks that followed his father’s death, a silent, comforting presence by his side, no questions asked, no judgment passed. Shubhman was kind of amazing. Uzair wished he were here tonight. Maybe then people would stop giving him those looks. Not to mention that Uzair…might be missing Shubhman? Maybe. They were not officially together yet—Shubhman wasn’t rushing him, considerate of his father’s death—but Uzair definitely missed the meaningless flirting, and the feeling of security Shubhman’s presence brought.

Uzair wondered if this was how people began falling in love. He hoped it was. Shubhman was a man he could trust not to break his heart. He was nice, confident, and refreshingly straightforward and honest. Before leaving on a work trip to Japan, he had looked Uzair in the eye and told him he expected a positive answer from Uzair when he returned. It was a bit arrogant but charmingly honest of him. Shubhman didn’t play mind games. Uzair adored that about him.

Behind him, a branch cracked.

Uzair stiffened, goosebumps running up his spine as the most peculiar awareness filled him.

He held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

It was silly. There was no one behind him. He was back in England. He was back home.

He couldn’t be there.

A big, calloused hand wrapped around his neck.

A shudder rolled through Uzair’s body. It wasn’t possible. He was imagining things. This couldn’t be happening.

Swallowing, he turned his head slowly.

Ice-green eyes met his, and Uzair couldn’t breathe, drowning in their cold depths, like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s snare.

He could scream. Dev and Sameer would hear him easily if he did.

“Miss me, solnyshko (sunshine)?” said a deceptively soft voice.

Uzair lunged forward and slammed their lips together. Jaskirat’s hands grabbed his face, his hot lips searing him, his tongue invading Uzair’s mouth with a single-minded intensity.

God, it felt like he was drowning, like he was coming apart at the seams and the only thing holding him together was Jaskirat’s mouth. Small, broken moans left Uzair’s trembling, hungry lips—he’d needed this, needed this so much—his arms looping around Jaskirat’s neck, his body straining up, like a flower reaching up to the sun. Jaskirat’s big hands slid down Uzair’s back before squeezing Uzair’s cheeks and hauling him up—

Whimpering against Jaskirat’s mouth, Uzair wrapped his legs around his waist and let Jaskirat carry him…somewhere. At least he thought they were moving, but thinking was hard, thinking was bloody impossible while his entire body was shuddering with carnal and emotional need. He could only cling to Jaskirat, hands moving greedily all over Jaskirat’s wide back, touching the muscles straining under the shirt—and God, his mouth tasted so good, he smelled so good, earthy and masculine, not at all like the expensive cologne Shubhman used—

Fuck, Shubhman.

Uzair tore his mouth away, gasping out, “Wait—I can’t.”

Jaskirat pushed him against the wall of the house, pinning him easily with just his hips. Uzair swallowed a whimper as their erections ground together.

“Why not?” Jaskirat said, his arms bracketing Uzair’s head, his Light Green eyes boring into his.

Uzair licked his swollen, oversensitive lips, feeling dizzy from Jaskirat’s proximity. Thinking and talking was a challenge when all he wanted was Jaskirat’s mouth back on his.

“What are you even doing here?” Uzair whispered hoarsely, trying to make his legs untangle from Jaskirat’s waist. They refused to cooperate. “Are you stalking me? That’s too creepy, even for you.”

“I’m in London on business,” Jaskirat said, his lips twisting. “I have better things to do than stalk you, love.”

A wave of humiliation washed over him before Uzair realized it wasn’t really an answer. “Then what are you doing here?” he said, lifting his chin. “It’s not even my house.”

For a moment, Jaskirat didn’t reply. “You didn’t tell anyone it was me who kidnapped you. I wanted to ask you why. That’s why I’m here.”

Oh.

Trying to ignore the crushing disappointment in his belly, Uzair forced himself to slide his legs down. Still bracketed by Jaskirat’s arms, he took a deep breath. “Was it you?”

“Pardon?”

“Was it you who murdered my father?”

Something shifted about Jaskirat’s expression. “No,” he said, looking him in the eye.

Uzair breathed out, the guilt he’d carried inside of him for a month finally loosening its hold on him. He might not have loved his father, he might have barely known him, but Faiz Baloch had still been his dad. It had been killing him to think that he might be partly responsible for his father’s death because he hadn’t told anyone about Jaskirat’s involvement in his kidnapping.

The relief he now felt was so immense that Uzair found himself smiling.

“Blyad,(fuck)” Jaskirat cursed before leaning down and sucking the skin of Uzair’s cheek into his mouth, where one of his dimples was. He kept on sucking. He was going to leave a love bite for sure.

“Stop,” Uzair managed. “I’m not—you can’t.”

Jaskirat breathed into his cheek, steely fingers gripping Uzair’s hips. “Why not?“

“I’m—I’m sort of seeing someone.” For some reason, he felt a pang of guilt. Stupid. So stupid.

His entire body protested when Jaskirat pulled back.

The streetlight lamp wasn’t bright enough for him to discern Jaskirat’s expression.

“Seeing someone?” Jaskirat said.

Feeling oddly uneasy, Uzair nodded. It was a very small white lie, wasn’t it? He and Shubhman weren’t together yet, but they had a tentative understanding that they would be. They were dating. Sort of.

“He’s great,” Uzair said. “I like him a lot. So I wouldn’t fool around with you even if you weren’t…you. I’m not a cheater. I despise cheating.”

Jaskirat had the nerve to look amused. “I see you’re still the same sentimental, foolish boy with your head stuck in the clouds.”

Uzair glowered at him.

Jaskirat smoothed the wrinkle between Uzair’s brows with his thumb. “Is that disgruntled kitten look supposed to be intimidating?” he said, his mocking tone contradicting the hunger in his gaze. It was such an unsettling contrast: Jaskirat spoke to him with such derision and yet looked at him as if he wanted to consume him.

“I loathe you,” Uzair said.

A corner of Jaskirat’s mouth twitched. “Is that why you’re fondling me, love?”

Uzair looked down and flushed, staring in betrayal at his own hands stroking Jaskirat’s chest. He jerked his hands away and balled them by his sides.

“It’s just some stupid Stockholm syndrome thing,” he said, blinking rapidly as angry tears welled in his eyes. What was wrong with him? He had finally met an amazing man, someone he could build a life with. Why the hell did he feel like burrowing his face in Jaskirat’s chest, clinging to him with all his limbs, and begging Jaskirat to take him away?

“My father is dead,” Uzair said tightly. “Your friend was avenged. You have no reason to mess with me anymore.” He met Jaskirat’s eyes and whispered, his voice raw with emotion, “So why are you doing this? You can’t be that cruel.”

Jaskirat put his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I’m not doing anything, pet,” he said in a very soft tone. “I didn’t come here for that. You’re the one who jumped me the moment you saw me.”

Glad that the darkness hid his blush, Uzair crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s Stockholm syndrome. I’m going to see a therapist and get cured of it.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m very sure,” Uzair said, lifting his chin. “If I wasn’t sick, I’d never cheat on Shubhman. I never cheat on my partners.”

“Cheating implies a committed relationship,” Jaskirat said. “Has it occurred to you that you may not be committed enough to that…epitome of perfection?” He stepped closer to Uzair again and leaned down until only half an inch separated their faces. His breath brushed Uzair’s cheek. “Maybe your body knows who it belongs to.”

Uzair’s eyelids grew heavy and his body felt weak. “No,” he managed.

“You’re trembling, love, and I’m not even touching you.”

Uzair swallowed thickly, fighting the insane urge to lean into Jaskirat. I’m dating Shubhman. I hate you.

Jaskirat’s teeth grazed his jaw. “Who do you belong to, baby?”

Uzair almost whimpered.

“Has he touched you?” Jaskirat said. “He fucked you?”

Uzair wished he could say yes, just to shut him up. “My father died,” he whispered. “Sex was the last thing on my mind.”

“Really?” Jaskirat said, kissing Uzair’s cheek. God, his lips, his beard. “I remember differently. You’ve always been such a slutty little thing, always hungry for cock.” He sucked on Uzair’s jaw, teeth sinking into the flesh.

For your cock, Uzair nearly said, swallowing another moan.

“Why do you care?” he said instead, lifting his eyelids with some effort. “Why do you care if I fucked him yet or not? I was a toy to you. A pawn. But now the game is over. The king is taken down. What do you need a pawn for?”

Jaskirat pulled back. “You’re right: I don’t. You’re of no use to me anymore.”

Uzair pasted a smile on his face. “Exactly. So please, please don’t ruin this for me. I have high hopes for my relationship with him. He’s good, he’s nice, and he’s kind to me. We have common interests. I like him a lot.” He can give me what you can’t—and won’t—ever give me.

A muscle in Jaskirat’s jaw twitched. “I’m not interested in ruining your perfect relationship. But before you marry your Mr. Nice, you might consider searching his house for stray pets.”

Uzair frowned. “What?”

“You’re too trusting and idealistic,” Jaskirat said, eyeing him with obvious distaste. “Try living your life on the assumption that everyone is an asshole. Some people just hide it better than others.”

“That’s a pretty sad way to live,” Uzair said softly.

Jaskirat shook his head. “Don’t come crying to me when you get hurt.”

Uzair blinked, a funny feeling settling in his stomach. “I didn’t know that was an option.”

Jaskirat lips thinned. “It isn’t.” He looked at Uzair for a moment before saying, “Goodbye, Curly.” He turned away.

Something like panic pulled at Uzair’s throat. “I’m not even curly anymore,” he heard himself say.

Jaskirat looked back at him. His gaze made Uzair very self-conscious of his straightened hair and boring, safe clothes. He looked nothing like the barefooted curly boy in bright, flamboyant shirts Jaskirat was used to seeing.

“Goodbye, Curly,” Jaskirat said, his tone a little different, a little tight, before disappearing into the night.

Uzair sagged back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to swallow the thick lump in his throat.

Goodbye.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo@hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

Sameer Vardhan Rai hid his smile in Dev’s shoulder. Unlike his boyfriend, he had no love for Indian football team, so their continued failure to score was pretty amusing to him. He knew better than to say it aloud though.

Sameer’s smile faded when he caught sight of Uzair sprawled on the other couch. “Sprawled” was probably the wrong word for the way his friend was seated: there was something stiff and unnatural about Uzair’s posture. It wasn’t the first time Sameer had noticed that about Uzair ever since his return home. Sameer couldn’t quite put a finger on it. It wasn’t that Uzair seemed unhappy, per se. He didn’t. There was simply something off about him. Sometimes.

Sameer chewed on his lip. He had thought offering Uzair a job at his family company would take Uzair’s mind off of what had happened to him. While it did seem to help—Uzair was clearly happy to do what he was good at, and glad that he didn’t have to depend on his father—something was still off. Uzair wasn’t the same. Sameer wasn’t sure what to do about it. He had given Uzair some space, not wanting to pressure him until he was ready to talk, but it had been three weeks since Uzair’s return and Uzair still laughed it off and evaded the topic completely. It was as if… as if something had happened to him while he was in Russia. Something Uzair didn’t want to think or talk about.

Sameer shivered and snuggled up closer to Dev, breathing in his familiar scent.

Dev turned his head. “sammy?”

Sameer pointed with his eyes toward Uzair and whispered, “You see it, too, right?”

Dev’s gaze shifted to Uzair. He nodded.

“You think something happened to him while those people had him?” Sameer said, careful to keep his voice low.

Dev frowned. “Sammy, some criminals had him kidnapped for two months. It wasn’t exactly a holiday. It’s natural he seems a bit down.”

“I guess,” Sameer said, but he wasn’t convinced. Uzair was the most positive, optimistic person he had ever known. Being locked up for two months shouldn’t have affected him in such a way—if that was really all that had happened, as Uzair claimed.

“I want to try talking to him again,” Sameer said.

Dev studied him before nodding. “If it’ll make you feel l better,” he said, kissing the corner of Sameer’s mouth, then the other one. “It’s not your fault, Sammy bear. You know that, right?”

Sameer buried his face in the crook of Dev’s neck, nuzzling into him. “Yeah,” he said, without much conviction. Logically, he knew it was unlikely he could have prevented Uzair’s kidnapping, but there was a part of him that kept wondering what would have happened if he had dragged his ass out of bed and insisted on accompanying Uzair to Saint Petersburg. If he had been in the right state of mind, he would have done that. But he had felt so shitty without Dev that he hadn’t cared enough. He should have been a better friend. He and Uzair had always had each other’s back. They had very few secrets from each other—normally. That was why the fact that Uzair didn’t open up about his time in captivity worried him. Uzair wasn’t the type to brood in silence. He wasn’t the type to brood, full stop.

“I’ll talk to him now,” Sameer said, untangling his limbs from Dev’s.

Uzair looked at him inquiringly when Sameer sat down next to him. “All right?” he said, glancing at Dev.

Sameer let out a laugh. “We’re not always attached at the hip, you know.”

Uzair snorted. “Could’ve fooled me. The two of you were bad enough before, but you’re completely disgusting now that you’re exchanging bodily fluids. You’re like conjoined twins who fuck each other silly. Ugh.”

Rolling his eyes, Sameer elbowed him. “You’re just jealous, mate.”

“I am.” Uzair smiled wistfully. “You know I’ve always wanted to have what you and Dev do.”

“You will,” Sameer said with certainty, clasping Uzair’s shoulder. He didn’t know a more lovable person than Uzair. He was so easy to love and so ready to give love. “Someday, you’ll meet a nice guy who will love you to bits and treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

Shaking his head, Uzair averted his gaze. “I don’t want it someday,” he said. “I want it now. I need it now, Sam.”

Sameer frowned, hearing the odd note of desperation in Uzair’s voice. He wondered whether the last few months were to blame for that; maybe recent events had brought it home that life was short. Sameer wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy to jump into any sort of relationship so soon after a traumatic experience, but maybe that was exactly what Uzair needed.

“You wanna go out tonight?” Sameer said. “We could go to that club you like. Lots of hot blokes there.”

Uzair licked his lips and nodded, his fringe falling into his eyes.

Sameer smiled. He knew Uzair hated his curly hair because he thought it made him look younger, but personally, Sameer always thought his curls were ridiculously cute and endearing.

He pulled on a curl playfully. “I almost forgot how curly you are, Curly.”

And Uzair just…froze.

“Mate?” Sameer said, confused.

Uzair’s hand shot up to his hair. He smoothed it back self-consciously, unease flickering through his brown eyes. “Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. “I guess I forgot it, too. I’ll fix it.” He got to his feet, looking vaguely discomfited. “I’ll pick the two of you up in a few hours, yeah?”

Sameer’s brows furrowed. “You sure you want to go out tonight?”

“Yeah, totally.” Uzair flashed him a smile. “I’m fine. Later, mate.” And then he was gone—in the middle of the football match they had been watching, without even saying goodbye to Dev. Yeah, Uzair was totally fine.

Later that night, as he watched Uzair nurse his drink and turn down all the guys trying to strike up a conversation with him, Sameer’s concern only grew stronger. It wasn’t as though Uzair seemed completely uninterested in meeting someone: he made some effort, but he didn’t seem to be able to muster up much enthusiasm no matter how attractive the guy was. It was like there was an invisible barrier between Uzair and those men, and that was starting to freak Sameer out. Uzair was so detached. Uzair had always been anything but. He was a sociable, affectionate person, easy to talk to, easy to strike up friendships.

“Check out the guy at the bar,” Sameer tried again with a sigh, nodding toward the man in a suit. “He’s been staring at you for a while.” He didn’t have much hope for that one. The guy was quite a bit older than them, closer to thirty than twenty. He looked out of place in a club like that.

But, to his surprise, Uzair’s gaze lingered on the guy, something like interest appearing in his eyes for the first time that night. Running a hand through his tamed, barely wavy hair, Uzair caught the stranger’s gaze and smiled.

As the guy started making his way toward them, Sameer nudged Uzair. “Are you sure? He’s a lot older.”

Uzair nodded, long eyelashes hiding the expression in his downcast eyes.

Sameer studied him thoughtfully. Actually, maybe it would work. Uzair had always been mentally mature for his age, looking for a serious relationship rather than meaningless hookups. Sameer could easily see him getting married young and having a bunch of kids—something most twenty-three-year-olds weren’t ready to commit to. Maybe an older man was a better fit for Uzair than guys their age.

Sameer shifted his gaze back to the guy approaching them. For some reason, he looked familiar, but no matter how much Sameer strained his memory, he couldn’t remember where from.

“Hello, I’m Aariz,” the guy said, shaking their hands.

“Sameer,” he introduced himself.

Aariz nodded politely—he seemed nice—but his dark eyes were only on Uzair, hungry and a little enamoured already. Taking that as his cue to leave, Sameer picked up his drink and excused himself.

Leaning against the wall, he sipped his drink, alternating between watching Uzair out of the corner of his eye and checking his phone. Dev should be back soon—he had left to pick up his younger brother from some party almost an hour ago.

Half an hour later, Sameer was frowning as he watched Aariz and Uzair. Aariz already had a hand on Uzair’s thigh. Wasn’t it a bit too fast?

Sameer studied Uzair’s body language, looking for a clue. It was difficult. Uzair sat very still, his gaze dropped, letting Aariz grope his thigh and slip his hand under Uzair’s shirt. Although Uzair wasn’t stopping Aariz , there was something off about the whole thing.

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

The unfamiliar voice forced Sameer to turn his attention away from Uzair. “Sorry, not interested,” he said distractedly, not for the first time this night.

“How do you know? You barely looked at me,” the guy said playfully, leaning into him and putting a hand on Sameer’s bicep.

His annoyance flaring, Sameer was about to put the guy in his place when an arm wrapped around his hips and pulled him back against the wide, familiar chest. Sameer relaxed immediately.

“He barely looked at you because he’s taken,” Dev said, his warm breath tickling Sameer’s ear.

“Uh. Sorry, mate,” the guy said, blinking up at Dev and staring—a pretty normal reaction, all things considered.

Sameer chuckled, watching the guy leave reluctantly. “Maybe you should try modelling,” he said, his eyes closing as Dev started nibbling at his jaw. “At least you’d get paid for being stared at.”

“I wouldn’t want to make you jealous.”

Sameer laughed. “If I got jealous every time someone drooled looking at you, I’d get an ulcer. They can stare all they want. I’m the only one who gets to touch that.”

“I knew you wanted me for my pretty face,” Dev said in a mock-sad voice.

Sameer laughed again, because they both knew it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Dev had been his everything ever since they were kids. “That and your cock,” he said. “I’m quite fond of your cock.”

Dev smirked against his cheek. “My cock is quite fond of you, too. Where’s Uzair, by the way?”

“To the right. With an older bloke in a dark suit.”

“He’s not there.”

What?

Sameer opened his eyes. Dev was right. The table Uzair and Aariz had been seated at was occupied by different people now.

“He was there a few minutes ago,” he said, feeling a pang of worry. He looked at the dance floor but couldn’t see them there, either.

“Maybe they hit it off and left together,” Dev said.

Pursing his lips, Sameer shook his head. “It’s not Uzair’s style. And I don’t think he’d leave with a stranger after what happened. And he’s been drinking. What if Iqbal takes advantage of him?”

“Let’s check the restrooms first,” Dev said, taking his hand and shouldering his way through the crowd. “Call him.”

“He isn’t answering,” Sameer said, frowning down at his phone.

“We’ll find him,” Dev said, squeezing his fingers. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably snogging the bloke somewhere.”

They didn’t find Uzair in either of the restrooms.

Sameer was panicking a little by the time they decided to check the alley behind the club.

Two figures were pressed tightly against the wall, the taller caging the shorter one. Sameer recognized Iqbal’s suit.

At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. His first thought was that Dev had been right and Uzair was making out with the bloke. Hell, Aariz was practically dry-humping Uzair as he kissed him.

“Stop being such a cocktease,” Aariz snapped, his hand slipping between them. “You know you want it.” There was the sound of a struggle and then Aariz cursed. “You little bitch—”

Dev was the first to cross the distance. He hauled Aariz off of Uzair and slammed him against the wall so hard Iqbal groaned in pain.

“When someone says no, it means no, you dickhead,” Dev said before punching the guy in the stomach. Iqbal folded in half, whimpering. It looked painful as hell—Dev’s fists were enormous—but Sameer didn’t feel sorry for the guy in the least.

“Dev, let him go,” Uzair said hoarsely, sliding down the wall and wrapping his arms around his knees. “He’s a prick, but I did lead him on. I’m not entirely blameless.”

“But—”

“Get him out of my sight,” Uzair whispered, looking at the ground. “Please.”

Frowning, Dev looked at Sameer.

Sameer knew there were things Uzair would never talk about in front of Dev. His boyfriend and Uzair got along well enough, but they weren’t really close. Uzair was Sameer’s childhood friend, not Dev’s.

Sameer eyed Uzair’s bowed head. “Give us a few minutes, babe? Wait for us by the car?”

Nodding, Dev left, hauling Aariz away by the collar.

Once they were alone, Sameer sat down next to Uzair and put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” he said, squeezing Uzair’s shoulder. “He’s gone. You’re safe now.”

A brittle laugh left Uzair’s throat. “Yeah,” he said, his head sagging back against the wall. “I’m safe. So bloody safe.”

Sameer’s brows furrowed. “Why did you let it get so far with that prick? You looked uncomfortable when he was groping you at the table.”

Uzair didn’t answer for a while, his eyes dull and red.

At long last, he said, “Sometimes I liked to pretend I didn’t want it, so I thought…I thought maybe what I needed to stop feeling so—so itchy— was to have that guy force me to do what I don’t want.” Uzair laughed again. It was an awful sound: empty and uncomprehending. It terrified Sameer. Something was wrong, horribly wrong.

“But it was so different,” Uzair whispered, looking at the ground. “Why was it so different? I kept waiting and hoping that…Hoped I was just a pervert.”

Now Sameer was completely confused. Uzair wasn’t making any sense.

“He looked so much like him,” Uzair mumbled, something hateful, obsessed, and desperate about his expression. “Though the eyes were all wrong.”

Goosebumps ran up Sameer’s spine, a sinking feeling appearing in his stomach. He knew now why Aariz had seemed so familiar to him: he looked like that Russian tycoon with cruel green eyes—the man Uzair had gone to meet before he was kidnapped. But Uzair had denied Jaskirat Singh Rangi’s involvement in his kidnapping. Uzair had claimed he had no idea who his captors were or what they wanted. Why?

“You know the person responsible for kidnapping you,” Sameer stated. He didn’t like the implications of it. “Why did you lie to MI6? To your dad? To all of us?”

Uzair’s eyes shifted to him, dark, wide, and lost. “If I told the truth, I’d have to face him again,” he said, barely moving his lips. “I just want to forget it ever happened. I don’t wanna see him or think about him or—” He cut himself off, pressing his knuckles to his eyes. “I wanna forget it ever happened. Please?”

His heart heavy, Sameer pulled Uzair to his chest, hugging him close. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think.

“But what about Aariz ?” he said, because he had to. Burying one’s head in the sand could be dangerous. “What if it happens again, mate?”

“It won’t,” Uzair said tightly, his voice ringing with conviction. “That wasn’t what I came here for tonight. I wanted to meet a nice guy—not—not this. I wasn’t looking for his lookalike. I hate him, I swear.”

Sameer stroked Uzair’s wavy hair. It had gotten long while Uzair had been gone.

“He’s everything I hate,” Uzair said.

“Okay.”

“He was all wrong for me.”

Sameer said nothing, because of course a man like Jaskirat Singh Rangi was all wrong for such a sweetheart like Uzair.

“I’m glad I’ll never see him again.” Uzair’s voice cracked.

“Okay,” Sameer said, hugging him tighter.

He pretended he didn’t notice the wetness against his chest.

------

“I like you, Uzair.”

Uzair lifted his gaze from his plate and swept it around the restaurant before settling it on the man seated across the table. The calm, dark eyes of Shubhman Gill met his and held.

Shubhman had a strong, handsome face, with fashionably cut brown hair, dark eyes, and a firm, sensual mouth. His olive skin hinted at some Mediterranean roots. He was only four years older than Uzair, twenty-seven, but he had such an air of calmness, straight-forwardness, and quiet confidence about him that he seemed older.

It was Sameer who had introduced them. He and Sameer…they hadn’t really spoken about what happened a week ago (Uzair liked to pretend his breakdown in the alley had never happened), but Sameer seemed determined to take Uzair’s mind off of it and had set him up with Shubhman, one of his many distant cousins. Despite coming from an obscure, impoverished branch of Sameer’s family, Shubhman had made quite a career by the age of twenty-seven and had earned himself a fancy office one floor up from Uzair at Grayguard .

“Yeah?” Uzair said, giving Shubhman a lopsided smile. “Not sure why.”

Shubhman sipped his wine. “Are you fishing for compliments?” He had a good, sexy voice, very low-pitched and husky.

“Nope, I know I’m cute.” Uzair smiled wider. “It’s just…From what I’ve heard of you from Sameer, you don’t have much respect for people who are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, which is a bit funny. You’re related to a bunch of aristocrats.”

Shubhman chuckled but didn’t deny it. “It must be the dimples. I’ve always had a bit of a weakness for them.”

Uzair could only smile back. They were flirting, weren’t they? Flirting was good. Sameer would be so pleased with him.

Shubhman’s face turned serious. “Look, I’m going to be blunt with you. I don’t want any misunderstandings here. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” He looked Uzair in the eye. “I’m tired of the club scene and casual relationships. At this point I would like a husband and a couple of kids to spoil.” Shubhman shrugged. “I really like you, but if a serious relationship isn’t what you’re interested in, you’d better tell me now.”

Uzair swallowed, trying to fight the wave of panic. This was good, wasn’t it? This was what he had been looking for. Shubhman was attractive and confident without being arrogant, he was firm without being domineering, he was genuinely nice without appearing weak. He had a sexy voice and some nice muscles under that suit. He wanted kids, too. Shubhman checked all the boxes. He was practically perfect. The man of his dreams.

Uzair brought his glass to his lips and sipped his drink, trying to buy himself some time.

Shubhman smiled, looking amused. “I’m not proposing or anything,” he said, reaching across the table and taking Uzair’s free hand. His hand was big and warm. “I don’t want you to freak out. I’m just saying I like what I see—a smile like yours doesn’t lie—and I’d really like to get to know you better. Would you like to get to know me?”

It was reasonable.

Uzair smiled back and nodded, trying to ignore the anxious knot in his stomach.

The rest of the date went pretty well. Shubhman was easy to talk to. He was a good listener and a great conversationalist. He was funny, smart, and attractive. Uzair liked him. He liked him a lot.

After the dinner, Shubhman bought him flowers on the way to Uzair’s flat and kissed him chastely at the end of their date, the look in his eyes fond and fascinated.

All in all, it went great.

Later that night, as Uzair stared at the beautiful white roses on his nightstand, he thought that Shubhman was pretty much everything he had been looking for all his life.

He fell asleep with a small smile on his lips, feeling pleased and optimistic about their next date.

He dreamed of rough, possessive hands, cold-green eyes, and a heavy, hot body on top of him. He woke up, breathless and panting, his body tingling all over with longing and hunger, the likes of which he’d never felt before.

Angry tears sprang to his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want this. He wanted Shubhman. He wanted to dream of Shubhman, who was the epitome of everything he wanted in a man.

He wondered what Jaskirat was doing right now.

Uzair groaned in frustration. Stop thinking about him, you idiot. It had been a month since Vlad and Jasleen helped him escape. He doubted Jaskirat spared him a thought, and even if Jaskirat did, it was likely because he was annoyed by the loss of leverage against Uzair’s father. Or perhaps Uzair had been such an insignificant pawn to him that Jaskirat barely noticed or cared about his escape.

Uzair hated how that thought made him stupidly upset. His wayward emotions proved he had done the right thing by escaping when he had. At the rate he had been going, a few more days with Jaskirat would have turned him into a brainless, lovesick fucktoy who was happy to be locked up and used whenever his captor was in the mood.

There was another thing that was constantly at the back of his mind: it had been a month and everything was too quiet. Although Uzair hadn’t expected Jaskirat to care enough to go out of his way and kidnap him again, he did expect Jaskirat to do something to get revenge against his father. But so far, nothing had happened. The lack of reaction was a little unnerving. Even if Jaskirat didn’t care about Uzair, he sure did care about making Uzair’s father pay. Or didn’t he?

Sighing, Uzair turned onto his stomach, hugged his pillow, and tried to focus his thoughts on Shubhman, reminding himself that his father’s problems were no longer his concern. He had made the decision. He wanted nothing to do with the mafia, drug trafficking, or the criminal world, in general. He didn’t know his father all that well to care much about him as a person, and what he had found out about him from Jaskirat hadn’t exactly endeared him to Uzair. He didn’t love his father, and his father certainly didn’t love him. The latter had become blatantly obvious when his father had quickly lost interest in Uzair when Uzair had told him he didn’t know anything about his kidnapper.

“You’re useless,” was the only thing Faiz Baloch had said afterward before leaving. Uzair didn’t let it get to him—his father’s lack of affection was nothing new—but when Sameer offered him a job at his company, he didn’t hesitate. He was done trying to be a good son. He was so done. His dad and Jaskirat could kill each other for all he cared. Uzair didn’t give a shit about either of them. He was going to be happy. He was going to be happy and never look over his shoulder.

 With that in mind, Uzair closed his eyes and thought determinedly of Shubhman’s smile.

The next morning, his father’s helicopter crashed in Colombia.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo@hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

AND IT IS BACK!!!! (i put other offhand ships in there and i do not apologize)

thankyou for reading-

and to everyone waiting for it thankyou for motivating me enough to post it half asleep in my 2 hours of sleep:

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naieem: sibling relationships are weird. naieem: like i'd give Faizal my kidney but he is not borrowing my charger.

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rehman: what's with the napkin on the glass door? ulfat: uzair keeps walking into the glass door, so i thought this might help. uzair: oh cool! a flotaing napki- [walks into the glass door]

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uzair: when i said 'bring something from the beach for me' i meant seashells or something. hamza: [struggling to hold onto a dolphin] well you didn't say that.

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hamza, opening the door : hello? exorcist: hello, i am here to remove the demon that possessed you. hamza, frowning: uhm, i didn't call you? demon: i did hamza, to the demon: fucking traitor

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rehman: *opening the door* why are you here? yalina: naieem texted me and said uzair got hurt. yalina: so i brought a watermelon. rehman: why a watermelon? yalina: uzair loves watermelons. rehman: naieem: rehman: uzair: *cries and hugs the watermelon*

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uzair: *sneaking in through the window* rehman: *turning in his chair and flicking the light on* you want to tell me where have you been all night? uzair: i was with hamza? hamza: *turning in his chair* wanna try again?

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uzair: words ending in "ie" just sound adorable donga: yeah like cutie, sweetie, cookie. rehman: die

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[first date] yalina: what do you do? hamza: [remembering girls like bad boys] i sell drugs. yalina: are you serious? hamza: [remembering girls like sensitive guys] to kids in need.

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rehman: i'm not mad, i just want to know why you two need a fake id? uzair: "mumbles" rehman: what was that? hamza: ... you need to be over 18 at the pet cafe to hold the puppies.

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aslam: do you ever do anything except whine like a little bitch? rehman: sometimes i whine like a big bitch.

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rehman: life is soup, i am fork. hamza: accept me as your spiritual student.

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[at rehman's funeral] aslam: i need a moment alone with him. everyone: of course [leaves] aslam, leaning over rehman's body: listen here you little shit. i know you're not dead. rehman: yeah, no shit.

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hamza in dhurandhar 1: i think i accidentally joined a cult. hamza in dhurandhar 2: update, i m now the leader of the said cult.

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uzair: *signs a legal document with a glitter gel pen*

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*hamza texting rehman* hamza: get bell soon. hamza: *wet hamza: *wep hamza: forget it hamzz: brother you can just die.

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uzair: what's wrong with us? rehman: a lot rehman: but at least we look good.

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hamza: what if i am evil and ran towards you in a very fast speed. uzair: my arms are strong. i would catch you and hug you.

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ulfat: who tf is burning down my kitchen?! rehman, internally: making breakfast for my beautiful wife.

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rehman entering uzair's room: why are you naked?? uzair: i- i don't have clothes. rehman: *opens his closet* rehman: what are you saying, you have kurtas, shirts, pants, socks, oh hi hamza, more shirts, jackets-

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hamza looking at uzair: that man can't be fixed. i can fuck him though. maybe that will calm him down.

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everyone: can you come collect your freak of a man please. everyone: he is doing things. ulfat: no i set him loose on purpose. ulfat: he needs enrichment.

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hamza: so rizwan: did you fuck him? hamza: how the fuck did you guess that from "so" rizwan: am i right? hamza: maybe rizwan: that's what i thought.

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yalina to uzair: chill bro he is dating both of us. you're my boyfriend in law.

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uzair: you're a cute boy hamza: you're drunk uzair: and you're cute hamza: and you're really drunk uzair: and you're really cute hamza: drunk uzair: cute

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He stared wistfully at the beautiful mountains in the distance. He wasn’t sure why Jaskirat had even brought him to Switzerland. He was alone all day long.

He had to escape. He had to.

Because he was scared. Scared of what was happening to him. Scared because with each passing week, it was getting harder to explain away the way he felt around Jaskirat. Scared of waking up tomorrow and forgetting that he had a life back home. The life he wanted to return to. He was scared of losing himself.

Scared it was too late.

There were signs of that already.

He wore Jaskirat’s clothes all the time, and he liked it. He had semipermanent dabs on his face and thighs from Jaskirat’s kisses, and he loved it. His body was littered in love bites and scratches and assorted bruises he couldn’t stop staring at in fascination. Jaskirat fucked him so often and so thoroughly that Uzair barely needed any prep these days. It was scary how perfectly compatible they were in bed. Uzair had always loved sex, but sex had never felt this way: so addictive, so necessary. Never before had he felt like a man’s hands fucking belonged on his body.

It creeped him out. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, not with that man.

A sound at the door made him flinch, tearing him away from his thoughts.

His heartbeat picking up, Uzair turned around just as the door opened.

But it wasn’t Jaskirat.

It was a young woman. She stared at him, her mouth agape.

He stared back.

She was quite pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes that were full of bewilderment. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Oh.” She muttered in Russian, “Well, this is definitely not what I expected.” She walked closer, eyeing Uzair curiously.

“Hi,” Uzair said, tugging Jaskirat’s t-shirt down, suddenly self-conscious of his bare legs. Who was she? How had she entered the room? As far as Uzair knew, Jaskirat had the only key card to the room and the house was heavily guarded. “Who are you?”

Her eyebrows crept up. “Who are you? This is my house.”

Uzair’s stomach tightened into an uncomfortable knot. Her house? Did Jaskirat have a…a wife no one knew about?

Before he could formulate a reply, there was the sound of footsteps and a very pale Vlad appeared in the doorway. “Jasleen, you shouldn’t be here,” he told her in Russian. “Jaskirat will be angry—he is angry already. I called him.”

The woman—Jasleen, apparently—put her hands on her hips and huffed. “I’m angry, too.” She pointed at Uzair. “Who is he? Why is he in my brother’s bedroom?”

Brother? She was Jaskirat’s sister?

Vlad pursed his lips, shooting a dark look in Uzair’s direction. “He’s a guest,” he said, taking Jasleen’s arm and pulling her toward the door.

Jasleen didn’t budge. “I’m not stupid, Vladik. What kind of guest would be allowed into Jaskirat’s bedroom wearing nothing but what looks like Jaskirat’s t-shirt?”

Vlad rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but the woman. Uzair found his face getting warmer.

Jasleen looked from Vlad to Uzair before her lips formed an O. Then, a slow grin stretched her lips. “Really? My old-fashioned, straight brother is sleeping with a guy?” Her grin disappeared as she peered into Uzair’s face. “A boy? Are you even legal?” she said in English, her accent as non-existent as Jaskirat’s. “I didn’t know my brother was into jailbait, especially the male variety.”

“I’m perfectly legal,” Uzair said, sighing. “I’m twenty-three.”

“Huh,” she said, her voice laced with surprise and amusement. “But you’re still a lot younger than Jassi. And you still lack the boobs.”

“Kaur, you should leave now. Please.” Vlad seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why?” Jasleen said. “Maybe I want to get acquainted with the person who has my brother ditching his family and very important wedding rehearsals every evening.” She smiled brightly, walked over and offered her hand to Uzair. “Jasleen Kaur Rangi, also known as Jasleen Kaur Virk, soon-to-be Jasleen Gurbaaz Singh. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Uzair said after he had somewhat recovered from his surprise. Jaskirat was here for his sister’s wedding? “I’m Uzair—”

“How nice of you to find the time to drop by, Leena,” said a quiet, familiar voice.

Jasleen’s smile froze. She looked like a deer in headlights.

Jaskirat walked toward her, took his key card from her hand, and put it in his pocket. “Explain yourself,” he said, very gently.

She swallowed. “I was just curious, Jassi. I was curious why you never stay with your family for the night.”

“Curious,” Jaskirat repeated. “And what if you came across something or someone dangerous in this house? What then?” His voice hardened when his sister said nothing. “You risked not only your own safety but the safety of our entire family. There are things you don’t understand, Leena. Things I keep you away from for a reason. Where’s your bodyguard?”

“Jassi—”

“Go home,” Jaskirat groaned out, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. “Vlad will take you.”

“Jaskirat,” Jasleen tried again, but he shook his head.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said tersely. “Vlad, take her home.”

This time Jasleen didn’t resist when Vlad steered her out of the room, but she still waved to Uzair with a smile. “Bye, Uzair! It was nice to meet Jaskirat’s boy, although I didn’t even know you existed!”

“Out,” Jaskirat gritted out and Jasleen left hurriedly.

When the door clicked shut, Jaskirat swore under his breath and finally looked at Uzair. The anger in his eyes faded a little, replaced with something else. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“You have a family,” Uzair said, blinking. “A normal family with annoying little sisters and wedding rehearsals.”

Jaskirat walked toward him, loosening his tie. “I know, shocking, isn’t it?” He gave a wry smile. “Sometimes villains have mothers and siblings, too. Not all of us are tragic orphans with abused childhoods.”

Uzair chuckled, although he was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of Jaskirat having a family. “I guess I just never imagined you as an overprotective older brother.”

Jaskirat’s lips twitched again. “Don’t start thinking I’m a good person, love.” He put his hands on Uzair’s hips, looking down at him with a guarded expression. “I protect myself and mine. Simple as that.”

Uzair nodded. That made sense. “Your sister said she’s also known as Jasleen Kaur Virk. Does the rest of your family use that surname as well? Do they know what you do?”

“Of course they know what I do. Some of it.” Jaskirat clearly didn’t want to talk about it, his face closing off and his eyes turning colder.

Uzair fidgeted, trying to ignore the insane urge to put Jaskirat in a better mood and please him. Shit. Was that how Stockholm syndrome started?

“Some of it?” Uzair said, lifting his hands to take Jaskirat’s tie off.

Jaskirat let him, a strange expression flickering through his face. “You ask too many questions.”

“You answer only a small portion of my questions, so I figure the more questions I ask, the bigger the chance to get at least some answers.” Uzair shrugged with a smile. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Jaskirat’s gaze moved to his cheek—to where Uzair knew his dimple was. Jaskirat stared at it for a moment before he leaned in and kissed it.

He kissed it.

Uzair went still, wide-eyed and breathless, the tie slipping from his hand to the floor.

Jaskirat stiffened. He pulled back and turned away, looking faintly displeased, and made a step toward the door.

“Are you leaving already?” Uzair blurted out. Immediately he cringed, appalled and embarrassed by his silly, inappropriate clinginess. Fuck. This was worse than he had thought. This couldn’t continue. He must escape, as soon as possible—before this thing could become worse.

“Already?” Jaskirat turned back to him, his eyebrows raised slightly, the look on his face coldly speculative. He was clean-shaven that day. It made him look younger than usual. He should have looked more approachable, but it had the opposite effect. This clean-shaven man in an impeccably tailored designer suit reminded him of the cold-eyed stranger that had unnerved Uzair so much during their first meeting at the restaurant.

“Do you want me to stay?” Jaskirat said, his face impossible to read.

Uzair crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the other man. Was this all just a game for him? Everything was so calculated with Jaskirat. Sometimes Uzair felt like he was just a piece on a chess board, to move where Jaskirat needed and to be knocked off once he had outlived his usefulness. He’d never felt so out of his depth in his life.

God, he was so sick of it.

He wanted some control. He wanted Jaskirat to lose control for a change.

Uzair took the hem of his oversized t-shirt and pulled it off in one motion. He was naked underneath it, of course. Jaskirat didn’t seem to believe in giving him more clothes than necessary.

Jaskirat’s Light Green eyes swept over him. Uzair stood tall, refusing to be embarrassed under his scrutiny. If there was anything he was certain about, it was that Jaskirat wanted his body. One could fake emotions, one could lie about one’s thoughts, but lust wasn’t something a man could fake. Jaskirat wanted him—wanted him badly enough not to care about his gender.

“Does this mean you want me to stay?” Jaskirat said, sounding amused, the bastard.

Uzair shrugged and sprawled out on the bed. “I’d rather you leave,” he said softly, running a hand over his own chest and sighing as it brushed his nipples. “You don’t know how to take care of me, anyway.”

Silence.

Uzair smiled, looking at the ceiling.

“That isn’t the impression I get when you beg for my cock,” Jaskirat said in a clipped tone.

“Anyone can stick a dick in a hole,” Uzair said, grinning. “I love being fucked, and any hard, thick cock does it for me. But you can’t take care of me properly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskirat sounded downright irritated now. Good.

Uzair looked him in the eye. “I love being eaten out,” he murmured. “I love when men stick their tongues in my hole and let me ride their faces.”

Something flared in Jaskirat’s eyes. Something dark and formless. Was it anger? Was it disgust? Was it too much for a straight man? For a straight man, Jaskirat was a very generous lover, not squeamish about touching Uzair’s cock with his hands or even with his mouth. But it seemed he drew a line at rimming another man. Not that it was entirely unexpected: many gay men didn’t like eating ass, either. Too bad. There were few things Uzair loved more.

“slut,” Jaskirat said harshly.

“What?” Uzair said with a cheeky smile, kind of glad Jaskirat wasn’t a perfect lover, after all. “Is that too gay for you? Then go away so I can have a nice wank. It’s been a while since I wanked to my favourite fantasy. It doesn’t involve you.”

“And who does it involve?” There was something ugly in Jaskirat’s voice.

Uzair cocked his head, wondering if it was jealousy. Probably not, but the thought tickled him. On one hand, he wanted to get back at Jaskirat for his arrogant assumption that Uzair would spread his legs for him even on the day of his wedding to the man of his dreams. On the other hand, Uzair had never told his favourite fantasy to anyone. It was probably a bit creepy. But fantasies were harmless, weren’t they?

Uzair turned on his stomach and hugged his pillow, pressing his flushed cheek against the cool fabric.

“I’m on the beach at night,” he whispered at last, closing his eyes. “I’m naked. I’m asleep on my stomach, completely vulnerable. I wake up from having someone’s tongue in my hole. I freak out, because I don’t know the man, but it kinda feels good and I don’t want it to stop.” It was a bit of a lie that his fantasy didn’t involve Jaskirat: lately, the faceless stranger had started looking suspiciously like Jaskirat. “I’m embarrassed and so ashamed of my reactions, but I can’t stop moaning and pushing back against the stranger’s tongue. He forces me to get on all fours and fucks me with his tongue. I want him to stop, but I also don’t want him to stop—it feels so good and I want to be fucked deeper—I want more—”

Hands pulled his cheeks apart and a tongue swiped over his hole wetly. Uzair whimpered, shuddering, as Jaskirat started licking and sucking his sensitive rim. It was so much, and still not enough, and he moaned, trying to ride back against Jaskirat’s tongue. The tip of the tongue pressed into him and Uzair squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Jaskirat spread him open more and push in deeper, lick into him, wet noises and heavy breathing mixing with Uzair’s own whimpers.

“Please,” he managed, almost sobbing, sweat trickling down his neck. Jaskirat pulled his tongue out and circled it around Uzair’s hole, again and again, until Uzair felt his thighs begin to shake, tears springing to his eyes. “Please, please, please—I need you—sir—”

Only when the tongue stopped lapping at his hole had Uzair realized what he’d just said. A wave of embarrassment washed over him. “I…” he started but Jaskirat returned to licking his hole, now at a more rapid pace. Uzair groaned, his body drawing tight in need. “Please—”

Jaskirat rolled him onto his back, looming over him fully clothed but for his tie and unzipped fly. “Do you want to get fucked, baby?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and thick, eyes fixed on him hungrily. “Do you want sir’s cock?”

Uzair nodded dazedly, stretching his arms up to Jaskirat, wanting to be held and wanting to be fucked. Jaskirat leaned down and sucked on his neck, his big hand stroking Uzair’s sensitive nipples while the other reached for a condom and lube.

Uzair sobbed out when Jaskirat finally pushed inside him in one powerful thrust. Fingers digging into Jaskirat’s suit, he could only pant and hold on as Jaskirat’s cock worked inside him. He felt overwhelmed, loving the textural contrast between his nudity and Jaskirat’s clothing on his hypersensitive skin.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him, his eyes blurred by hot tears, his senses on overdrive as Jaskirat continued to snap his hips into him, his thick cock stretching him wide open, taking him higher and higher. He was basically clawing at Jaskirat’s hipbones now, overwhelmed and desperate and just out of it.

“Come on, kitty,” Jaskirat said into his ear, voice so low it was barely recognizable. He thrust hard against Uzair’s prostate. “Come for your owner.”

And that was it. With a keening sound, Uzair came on Jaskirat’s fancy shirt, nails digging into Jaskirat’s muscular ass. He tried to push back against Jaskirat, tried to meet his thrusts, but couldn’t, finding himself completely weak, his heart still thundering, his cock still throbbing with the aftershocks. He let out broken gasps as he let Jaskirat use his body to finish himself off, watching Jaskirat’s face twist with pleasure. Jaskirat was so loud, and Uzair loved it, loved the knowledge that he was the one causing those low groans and grunts, he was the one making Jaskirat lose his self-control as Jaskirat chased his orgasm. When Jaskirat finally came, Uzair sighed in satisfaction, feeling oddly proud and content.

Afterward, as he lay wide awake next to Jaskirat’s sleeping form, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he was losing his mind.

Sir.

He had called Jaskirat Sir. Uzair hadn’t even known he was into that sort of thing. But then again, he’d never before been with someone as assertive and mature as Jaskirat. He’d never felt so naturally submissive with any of his partners. He’d never before felt this constant urge to please any other man. He’d never dared to show his camp, flamboyant side to any of his sex partners. With Jaskirat, he felt cared for, like a pet that wanted to be cherished by his owner. By his owner. By his man.

And it was fucking insane.

He was insane.

Yes, he was a pet all right, a pet in a golden cage. Jaskirat didn’t cherish him. Jaskirat was just using him. Jaskirat had plans concerning him —plans he certainly wasn’t sharing with Uzair. Jaskirat was the worst man he could have possibly chosen for that particular kink. Because trusting and wanting to please a man whose heart was cold and whose every action was calculated was a recipe for disaster. Uzair might be a hopeless romantic and optimist, but he was neither stupid nor naive. This was bad. This was terrible, because this thing between him and Jaskirat had an expiration date. Sooner rather than later, Jaskirat would use him against his father, and, regardless of the outcome, they would go their own separate ways. The sex was too intense already. He didn’t need a kink that might leave him emotionally vulnerable on top of that.

A noise at the door startled him out of his thoughts.

Uzair turned his head toward it. The door opened slightly and Vlad’s head appeared in the gap. Vlad jerked his head, looking pale and grim.

Uzair frowned, staring at him.

Vlad jerked his head again.

Did he want to talk?

Glancing at the sleeping man beside him, Uzair got out of the bed silently and padded toward the door. Vlad handed him a folded sheet of paper, sweat gleaming on his forehead as he kept looking nervously over Uzair’s shoulder at Jaskirat.

Frowning, Uzair took the note and read it.

Dear Uzair,

My brother will probably kill me for this when he finds out (and he always does), but I can’t in good conscience ignore your situation after I found out who you are from Vlad (he could never resist my eyes).

I’m not naive. I know my brother is far from a harmless businessman. I know he does things he doesn’t tell us, his family. Most of the time, I’m fine with it. Maybe it’s cowardly, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. To be totally honest, I would have preferred to remain ignorant in this case, too, because it’s honestly terrifying to go against Jassi. I know he loves us, but you probably noticed that he can be pretty scary. Sometimes my brother can get carried away and doesn’t understand or care about hurting other people. I can’t agree with him on that.

Tomorrow is my wedding day, and I want it to be a perfect day, not just for me but for everyone. I’d like to think I’m a good person. I want to have a free conscience when I get in wedlock protected by holy chants and sit in my mandap in front of my God and people.

Yes, that’s right: you’ll be free tomorrow. I have managed to persuade Vlad to help you escape and make it look like you escaped with someone else’s help. It was surprisingly easy, actually. For some reason, Vlad was almost eager to get rid of you.

Vlad will get you out at around 11 in the morning while Jaskirat is gone and most of the security guards are at my wedding. You’ll have almost twelve hours to get to safety. I only ask you not to tell anyone that my brother was involved in your kidnapping. He’s not a monster, you know. Yes, he can be harsh, and he can be an overbearing ass, but he’s the best big brother I could have asked for. Even when he’s a dick, he usually has reasons for it. I’m not entirely sure what his plans are concerning you, but he has reasons to want revenge against your father. He probably hasn’t told you, but one of the men who died on that train was Jaskirat’s childhood friend, Dhruv. He was a good man. My brother may not be a very good man, but he has a quality not every man possesses: he’s unwaveringly loyal to those important to him, and would do anything to keep them out of harm’s way.

Best of luck,

Jasleen.

Uzair stared at the note before slowly lifting his gaze to Vlad. The guy’s paleness and nervousness made an awful amount of sense now.

Vlad nodded jerkily, grabbed Jasleen’s letter from his hand, and shut the door again.

A numb feeling spreading through his chest, Uzair walked back to the bed and slipped between the sheets. It took a conscious effort not to look at the man sleeping inches away from him.

He was going to be free tomorrow. After almost two months of uncertainty, he was going home.

That was all that mattered. That was all he wanted. That was what he needed.

Jaskirat shifted in his sleep and slung a heavy arm over Uzair’s chest.

Uzair closed his eyes and didn’t dare breathe.

He was going home. He was going back to normalcy.

It was finally over.

------------

Buttoning his dress shirt up, Jaskirat said, “Is there a reason you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes?”

Uzair averted his gaze toward the window. With his knees pulled to his chest and his bare arms wrapped around them, he looked small and very young. The morning sunlight reflected off his raven hair and coloured his high cheekbones with a healthy glow. He would look like an innocent, uncorrupted angel if there hadn’t been something so very sensual in the curve of his wide, plump mouth. Not for the first time, Jaskirat thought that the boy looked more French than English.

“You’re one to talk,” Uzair said without looking at him, a small, rather forced smile curling his lips. He was in a strange mood.

Jaskirat eyed his profile for a moment before deciding he didn’t have time to interrogate him. Uzair had been particularly insatiable this morning, and Jaskirat was already running late because of him. Jasleen, for all her nosiness, didn’t deserve to be stood up by her brother on her own wedding day.

“I won’t be back till late evening,” Jaskirat said, slipping into his tuxedo jacket. “Vlad will bring you food. Tomorrow we’re returning to Russia.”

Catching his lip between his white teeth, Uzair nodded, his gaze still averted. “Bye,” he said, his arms tightening around his knees.

Jaskirat paused by the door. “Something wrong?”

Uzair shook his head, smiling crookedly. “Just sick of being stuck inside, I guess.”

Jaskirat wasn’t convinced, but he really didn’t have time for this. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, opening the door.

“Wait!” In the blink of an eye, Uzair was out of the bed and dashing toward him in a flurry of pale limbs and messy curls. He looped his arms around Jaskirat’s neck and pressed his mouth against Jaskirat’s, his lips soft, plush and desperate, as if they hadn’t just spent hours having sex.

Jaskirat chuckled, his fingers digging into Uzair’s round buttocks. But he kissed back, taking charge of the kiss the way his Curly liked. He was rewarded with soft, needy whimpers of pleasure as the boy clung to him. Jaskirat indulged him, although after hours of sex getting an erection was impossible even for a man with his sex drive.

But he really couldn’t stay a moment longer.

He pulled back, their lips parting with a wet smack, and cleared his throat. “Let go of my shirt, kitten.”

Brown eyes stared at him dazedly for a few moments before Uzair practically jumped away and clasped his hands behind his back, looking flustered.

He blushed so prettily.

Jaskirat’s lips thinned at the thought. He really didn’t like the effect the boy had on him.

The sooner he got rid of Uzair, the better.

Without another word, he left the room, the door locking after him

------

Weddings were fucking tiresome. It didn’t help that Jaskirat had spent the better part of the day forced to put up with his numerous aunts’ nosy inquiries about his own marital status and when it was going to change. Apparently, being on the wrong side of thirty and unmarried was “tragic, just tragic.” There was a reason he didn’t like spending too much time with his extensive family. It was hard to intimidate someone into silence when they had seen him in his nappies. Jaskirat’s mother was the worst. She had kept nagging him throughout the evening, wanting to know when he was finally going to follow his younger sisters’ example and settle down. She hadn’t been impressed when he had finally snapped and told her he had more important things to do than play house with some woman.

Jaskirat heaved an irritated sigh at the memory and entered his lake house. It was blessedly quiet compared to the noisy manor he had left behind.

Vlad was waiting for him in the hall.

He knew something was wrong the moment he saw his pale face.

“Baloch’s boy is gone,” Vlad said.

Jaskirat stared at him.

“What?” he heard himself say.

“He escaped,” Vlad said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Escaped.

The word rang in his ears, refusing to penetrate his tired mind.

Then, he was moving.

He strode upstairs, toward his bedroom, Vlad trailing after him.

The lock was broken.

The room was empty. The wardrobe was wide open. There was no trace of the curly-haired boy with a dimpled smile. The bed was still unmade, the sheets rumpled and swept aside in the aftermath of the sex they’d had that morning.

“How?” Jaskirat said, staring at the bed.

“We aren’t sure. He was still here when I brought him food at eleven o’clock. Obviously, I checked the security feeds, but it looks like the cameras malfunctioned around noon. I didn’t find out until hours later because—well, you know why. After you told me to stop snooping on you, I didn’t monitor your bedroom.”

Slowly, Jaskirat turned around.

He studied Vlad in silence.

Vlad’s eyes were darting all over the room. “My guess is he had outside help. Someone must have sneaked into the house, using the wedding as a distraction.”

Jaskirat looked at the bead of sweat running down Vlad’s face. “The house was still guarded by twenty-three highly-trained, professional guards, men who are supposedly the best. But, somehow, they didn’t notice someone breaking in and taking my things from my bedroom. Explain that to me, Vlad.”

Vlad kept swallowing convulsively. “Looks like the work of a professional. Possibly it was the British SIS. They seemed suspicious of you.”

Jaskirat hummed. “Possible,” he said and watched Vlad breathe out. “But unlikely. There’s a much likelier explanation, don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand,” Vlad said.

Grabbing his throat, Jaskirat shoved him into the wall, Vlad’s head knocking against it with a thud. It looked painful. Jaskirat didn’t care. “Why?” he said, rage making him see red. “Why did you do it?”

All pretence left Vlad’s face, his body sagging as though he were a rag-doll. “I…”

“Why?” Jaskirat repeated, squeezing his throat tighter and watching him choke. Snapping a man’s neck wasn’t difficult. It had been years since he had been so tempted to do it.

“I did it for you,” Vlad managed to croak out. “I did the same thing you did when the brat started messing with my head—I removed him out of your reach. When you calm down, you’ll know I did the right thing! You’ve been irrational since you started fucking that little faggot! He’s nothing but trouble. You can get back at Baloch some other way. You know you can.”

“How dare you,” Jaskirat said. “I’ve been too soft with you, Vlad. Enough is enough.” Tightening his grip further, he watched Vlad’s face turn grey. When Vlad started losing consciousness, Jaskirat dropped him to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“You know I don’t do well with betrayal,” Jaskirat said, looking down at the gasping, coughing man. “I trusted you to do your job well. I trusted you to have my back, not stab me in the back.” He turned away.

“What are you going to do to me?” Vlad croaked out.

“Nothing,” Jaskirat said. “You have fifteen minutes to get of my house. I’d better not hear from you again.”

“I’ve been loyal to you for fifteen years! Doesn’t that count for something?”

Jaskirat paused. “It does. That’s the only reason you’re still alive. You know I don’t like it when my people start thinking they know better than me. They don’t.” And he stalked out of the room, anger and regret churning his insides and making his blood boil. Goddammit, Vlad. You fucking idiot.

Vlad was right about one thing: even without the boy, Jaskirat could, and would, make Faiz Baloch pay. The Englishman was ultimately the reason Jaskirat had lost two men he had trusted with his life: first Dhruv, now Vlad.

Faiz Baloch was certainly going to pay.

Soon.

~~~~~~END OF PART-1~~~~~~~

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo@hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

It was kind of freaky how sexually compatible he and Jaskirat were. It wasn’t like Uzair’s previous sexual experiences were bad—far from it—but this was something else. This was the sort of attraction that made him feel almost high when Jaskirat touched him, and sex-starved when Jaskirat didn’t. It was heady. It was scary. It was scary how well Jaskirat could read his body and play it like an instrument: he was bossy when Uzair wanted to be owned and ordered around, he was gentle and understanding when Uzair needed cuddles and snuggles, and he was deliciously cruel and scary when Uzair was in the mood to pretend he didn’t want it (with Jaskirat, he always wanted it).

The scariest part was, it went both ways. Uzair was just as attuned to Jaskirat. When Jaskirat was in a black mood, Uzair found himself turning pliant and extremely submissive, letting Jaskirat mark him and take out his frustration on him—and getting off on it. He got off on pleasing Jaskirat, which was…yeah, probably pretty messed up.

The most messed up part, though, was that he couldn’t even claim that he was in any way being taken advantage of or lied to. Jaskirat didn’t pretend to be anything he wasn’t. Uzair didn’t suddenly start thinking Jaskirat was just a misunderstood good man. Jaskirat wasn’t a good man; Uzair was perfectly aware of it, yet it didn’t change how insanely attracted to him he was.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled into Jaskirat’s chest. “How do you turn me into such a nympho?”

He felt more than heard Jaskirat’s laugh. “It’s not my fault you’re a kinky little shit, kudryashka. (curly)”

“What does that mean?” Uzair muttered, not bothering to deny the kinky little shit part. “I don’t know that word.” It sounded like an endearment. Uzair hoped it wasn’t an endearment. Jaskirat’s tendency to use endearments he didn’t mean wasn’t endearing at all.

Jaskirat tugged at his hair. “It means ‘curly.’ Or close enough.”

Great. So, another mock endearment.

“I’m starting to think you have a thing for my hair,” Uzair said.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jaskirat said, running his hand through his curls.

They fell into a silence that shouldn’t have been so comfortable.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Uzair murmured, trailing his fingers down Jaskirat’s muscular arm.

“I have,” Jaskirat replied.

A shiver ran up Uzair’s spine. Jaskirat’s answer didn’t surprise him, per se—he would have been more surprised if the answer was negative—but the calmness with which Jaskirat spoke about it was fucking scary.

Uzair eyed the tattoo on Jaskirat’s arm, a single word in Russian: “Помни.” It meant “Remember.” Uzair didn’t know the story behind the tattoo, but it seemed like good advice for him: he must never forget what this man was capable of.

“Do you mean personally or by giving an order?” Uzair said.

“There’s a difference?” Jaskirat said, his voice very dry. “A kill is a kill, no matter whose hands do the actual deed. But to answer your question: both.”

Uzair traced his fingers lower, to Jaskirat’s hand. A hand that killed someone. A hand that could reduce him to a quivering, mindless creature with the slightest touch.

“Is it hard?” Uzair said. “To end someone’s life?”

“Sometimes,” Jaskirat said after a moment. “But most people I killed were scums so I didn’t lose sleep over it. Besides, I worked for the FSB at the time, so the kills were perfectly legal.” For some reason, his tone turned almost mocking at the word ‘legal.’

“FSB?” Uzair asked.

“The Federal Security Service,” Jaskirat clarified.

“KGB’s successor?” Uzair asked.

“Yes.” Uzair frowned, trying to remember everything he knew about Russian military agencies. Wasn’t Putin heavily involved with the FSB about ten years ago?

“Is this where you know the President from?” Uzair said.

“Among other things,” Jaskirat replied before murmuring, “Liubopytnoi Varvare…”

 Uzair looked up at him. “What?”

“An old Russian proverb,” Jaskirat said, his Green eyes glinting with amusement. “Basically means the same thing as ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ A very wise proverb, don’t you think?”

“Are you threatening me?” Uzair said with a grin.

Jaskirat’s eyes lingered on his smiling mouth for a second. “Not at the moment.”

Uzair folded his hands on Jaskirat’s broad chest and put his chin on top of them. “Are you, like, a Mafia boss or something?”

Throwing his head back, Jaskirat laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Uzair said, shooting him an affronted look. “Are you going to deny you’re a boss of organized crime? That’s basically what the mafia is.”

Jaskirat still looked amused. “I don’t think of myself in those terms. I make money, I’m very good at making money, and sometimes the way I make money isn’t legal. The more money you have, the more powerful and influential you are and the more enemies you get. The more enemies you get, the more ruthless and careful you must be. Otherwise some people might get ideas.”

Uzair frowned, considering it. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He looked at Jaskirat. “Don’t you get tired?” he said softly. “Isn’t it lonely? What do you need so much money for, anyway?”

Jaskirat gave him an unreadable look. He brushed his knuckles against Uzair’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re Faiz Baloch’s son, baby?”

Uzair felt himself redden. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t even the most ridiculous endearment Jaskirat had ever used.

“Are you implying my father is the same?” Uzair said.

Something cold and hard flickered through Jaskirat’s eyes. “In some ways, your father and I are cut from the same cloth.”

“I know,” Uzair said. “I mean, I’ve suspected that he’s involved in some shady dealings for a long time. I would have been a fool to be completely blind to it.” Uzair hesitated before meeting Jaskirat’s gaze. “What did my father do to you?”

Jaskirat closed his eyes, looking disinterested in continuing the conversation. But, to Uzair’s surprise, he replied, “He thought it was acceptable to lie to me. As a result, he put me in a very sticky situation and I ended up owing a lot of favours to people I’d rather not be indebted to.”

Uzair’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did he do?”

He started thinking Jaskirat wasn’t going to answer when he did.

“I have very few principles and limits,” Jaskirat said. “But everyone who has dealings with me knows I don’t break them. Your father made me inadvertently break one of them.”

“Now I’m dying of curiosity,” Uzair said, tapping Jaskirat’s chest with the tips of his fingers.

Jaskirat opened his eyes, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Remember what happens to curious kittens?”

“Cats,” Uzair corrected him.

“Kittens are baby cats,” Jaskirat said with a completely straight face.

“I’m not a baby cat,” Uzair said before laughing. “Also, this conversation is totally ridiculous and evil men aren’t allowed to be ridiculous. You’re veering off the script again.”

“Maybe I’m not evil,” Jaskirat murmured, carding his fingers through Uzair’s hair. “Maybe I’m just misunderstood.”

Uzair snorted. “Right. So, what exactly did my dad do?”

All traces of amusement disappeared from Jaskirat’s face. “We had an agreement. Baloch needed safe transport for tons of illegal goods from Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan to several European countries.” He shrugged slightly. “You can get smuggled goods in those countries for next to nothing if you know the right people. It’s business, pure and simple, and as long as those goods aren’t drugs, I don’t care. Baloch’s goods were loaded on my train. For a price, obviously.”

Uzair didn’t like where the conversation was going. “What happened?”

Jaskirat’s lips thinned. “My trains are guarded, but usually it’s just a precaution unless there’s a specific cause—the trains aren’t checked and are ensured safe passage through most borders. Except the train was attacked in Poland. A car exploded, four of my men died, and the whole debacle attracted too much attention to the train. It was searched and tons of cocaine were found.” Jaskirat’s eyes hardened. “Cocaine certainly wasn’t in the deal.”

Uzair winced, remembering something from his research on Jaskirat prior to their meeting: Jaskirat’s father had died from overdosing. “But I haven’t seen even a hint of that scandal when I researched you, so you must have hushed it up?”

“Of course I did. But it wasn’t easy with the deaths involved. And I don’t do drug trafficking, so I didn’t have the necessary connections. I ended up spending millions to hush it up and owing a lot of favours to people I’d rather not owe anything. Worse, the whole ordeal damaged my… business reputation in certain circles. In this line of work, you don’t want to be known as someone who gets caught. Conveniently, your father didn’t take any damage at all, even though it was his mess.” Something ugly flickered in Jaskirat’s pale eyes. “It was supposed to be a routine run, nothing dangerous. Sometimes casualties are unavoidable, but those men didn’t sign up for that shit. Some of them had families. It wasn’t Baloch who had to explain to a bunch of kids that their father was dead.”

Uzair swallowed the bile rising to his throat. He’d known his father wasn’t a saint, but this…this was something else. There was knowing, and then there was knowing.

The assessing stare Jaskirat pinned him with was unsettling. “What will you do when you inherit your father’s business and everything it entails? Are you going to follow in his footsteps?”

Uzair caught his lip between his teeth. “I tried not to think too much about it, to be honest.” He chuckled at his own naivety. “But now…I don’t think I can do what he does, what you do. I’m not—I’m not a saint or anything, I understand that sometimes you must be ruthless to succeed, but I have limits.” He gave a crooked smile. “I’m not cut out for the life of a criminal mastermind. I’ll make sure the company is successful by legal means. I have a pretty good head for business. Maybe Baloch Industries won’t be as profitable as before, but I’m not greedy.”

“As profitable as before,” Jaskirat said flatly. “You do realize what kind of money you’re talking about?”

Uzair grinned. “An outrageous amount I’d never be able to spend? I told you: I’m not greedy. Being a millionaire is enough for me. I don’t want to constantly look over my shoulder, expecting a knife in the back. I want to live a full life, be happy, and do the things I want to do.”

A derisive smile twisted Jaskirat’s lips. “Yes, you want to marry a nice man and adopt two-point-five babies.”

Uzair smiled. He refused to be ashamed of it. “Nope, at least four babies. I have lots of love to give. And I prefer surrogacy to adoption, though I’m open to adopting.”

Jaskirat stared at him with an odd expression on his face.

“Will I be invited to the wedding?” he said at last, his Light Green eyes as unreadable as ever.

A funny feeling settled in the pit of Uzair’s stomach. In his fantasies, he had imagined his wedding to be a bright, fairy-tale-like event, a faceless, amazing man by his side as they said their vows, absolutely in love with each other. Having Jaskirat somewhere in that bright, happy fantasy was incredibly jarring for some reason.

“Hmm,” Uzair said. “That would be a bit awkward, don’t you think? Usually people don’t invite their…” He hesitated, flustered. What, exactly, was Jaskirat to him, again? “…men they have slept with in the past to their wedding.”

“Men they have slept with in the past,” Jaskirat repeated, amusement flashing through his face again. His hand settled on Uzair’s lower back, its weight already familiar. “Are you saying you wouldn’t spread your legs for me on your wedding day?”

Uzair spluttered. “Of course I wouldn’t! Who do you take me for?”

Jaskirat’s fingers slipped lower and touched Uzair’s slick, loosened hole. Uzair fought the urge to squirm. He was still tender and sensitive after the sex. He glared at Jaskirat.

Jaskirat had the nerve to smile. “You sure you wouldn’t?” he said in a conversational tone, massaging Uzair’s hole and teasing the oversensitive rim by slipping the tip of his finger in and out. “You would be all dolled up and pretty, maybe even wearing a white suit,” Jaskirat said, teasing his quivering entrance. “Your nice man will be waiting for you at the altar.” He pushed the finger deeper, stretching him deliciously. God.

“But you’ll be late,” Jaskirat said, pushing the finger in and out but avoiding Uzair’s prostate. “You’ll be late because you’ll be too busy moaning under me.”

“No,” Uzair ground out, painfully hard despite coming twenty minutes ago. The mere idea of Jaskirat fucking him while the man Uzair loved waited for him was filthy, wrong and— “No,” he said shakily, his voice cracking as Jaskirat added another finger.

“Yes.” Jaskirat crooked his fingers a little. Uzair shuddered, a moan slipping from his lips. “Yes, just like that. You’re a slut for me and always will be.”

“No—”

“Yes, you are,” Jaskirat said, voice clipped. He pushed his fingers against Uzair’s prostate, again and again. “Your nice guy will be waiting for you at the altar while you’re stuffed with my cock, begging me to fuck you harder. Eventually, he’ll come looking for you and he’ll find out what a dirty little whore you are.”

Uzair groaned as his hole clenched around Jaskirat’s merciless fingers. He felt close to sobbing already, his hole sensitive and overstimulated after hours of sex, and now this…God. He moved back onto the fingers, wanting them deeper, but Jaskirat tightened his grip in his curls, not letting him move.

“And you know the best part, kitten?” Jaskirat said hoarsely, fucking him with three fingers now. “Even with your fiancé watching, you won’t be able to stop begging me for my cock. You’ll come, clinging to me and moaning my name.” He slammed his fingers against Uzair’s prostate and Uzair saw stars. He whimpered and came, his hole clenching around Jaskirat’s fingers.

By the time he could think again, Jaskirat had removed his fingers and had his muscular arms crossed under his head, a picture of masculine nonchalance and cool confidence, bordering on smugness.

“I hate you,” Uzair said with feeling, his voice wrecked and raspy. He wasn’t even sure why he felt on the verge of tears. “Kiss me,” he heard himself say. “Please.”

Jaskirat eyed him for a moment, his face inscrutable, before rolling them onto their sides and capturing Uzair’s mouth in a soft, tender kiss. Uzair melted into it, his hand burying in Jaskirat’s short hair and pulling him closer, on top of him, shivers of need rippling through him.

He whined in displeasure when Jaskirat stopped kissing him.

“I’m leaving for Switzerland,” Jaskirat said, looking down at him. “I’ll be gone for six days.”

Uzair felt his stomach churn. He just…he just wasn’t looking forward to staring at the same four walls for another week.

Jaskirat’s thumb brushed his lip. “You will come with me.”

Oh.

“Okay,” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

-------

Vlad burst into Jaskirat’s office. “You can’t be serious!”

Only when his boss raised his unimpressed eyes from the computer, did Vlad realize what a blunder he’d made.

“Excuse me?” Jaskirat said.

 Vlad forced himself to meet his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m sorry, Singh, but I can’t agree with your decision to take the boy to Switzerland. It’s a huge security risk—he might be spotted at the airport or—”

“Do I need to remind you we’ll use my private plane?” Jaskirat said. “No one will dare check it. You will personally ensure it.”

“Of course,” Vlad said, swallowing his protests.

Jaskirat’s gaze turned sharp. “If you have something to say, do it.”

Vlad hesitated, unsure how to bring up the subject. “You’re fucking Baloch’s brat.”

There wasn’t a flicker of surprise or shame in Jaskirat’s pale eyes. Jaskirat’s face betrayed nothing. “Yes,” he said. “Your point being?”

Vlad didn’t think he’d ever felt so uncomfortable in Jaskirat’s presence. “I didn’t know you were…into men.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to inform you of my sex life, Vlad,” Jaskirat said amicably, the look in his eyes anything but amicable.

Gulping, Vlad took a step back. “Of course not—”

“But in case you’re wondering, I’m not interested in men.”

Vlad frowned. “But—but what about the boy?”

Lighting a cigarette, Jaskirat leaned back in his chair and regarded him coolly. “By the end of the year, Baloch Industries will be mine. Anything I do with Uzair Baloch is done with that in mind. That’s all I will say on the matter. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Vlad said, hiding his relieved smile. He had been an idiot to doubt Jaskirat even for a moment. Of course Jaskirat wasn’t enamoured with the boy. The mere idea seemed laughable now. Jaskirat wasn’t a homo.

Though, he still didn’t understand why it was necessary to drag the boy to Switzerland.

“Where are we even going to keep him?” Vlad asked. “You’ll be with Jasleen and—”

“He’ll stay at my lake house.”

Vlad blanched. “You can’t be serious. What if your—”

“He’ll stay at my house,” Jaskirat repeated, his tone final.

“Understood,” Vlad said, reluctantly. “But I just want you to know I think it’s a very bad idea. For security and other reasons.”

“Noted,” Jaskirat said, returning his gaze to his computer.

Taking it for the dismissal it was, Vlad turned to leave.

“Vladislav.” He stopped, looked back at Jaskirat, and flinched upon meeting his eyes.

Jaskirat said softly, “If you ever snoop on me again, I might forget about the loyalty you have showed me in the past fifteen years. No one is indispensable. Not even you.”

Vlad gave a curt nod and left the room as fast as he could.

As he strode down the corridor, he couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling in his gut. Jaskirat may not be enamoured with the boy, but he certainly acted fucking strange when it came to him. Ever since that English kid appeared in this house, Jaskirat’s trust in Vlad seemed to be on a downward spiral.

It was all Uzair Baloch’s fault.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

Vlad hesitated, wondering if he should tell Jaskirat how surprised Yalina was by his absence from the negotiations. Normally, Jaskirat was something of a control freak.

But then again, nothing was fucking normal around here these days.

“She’s doing everything she can,” Vlad replied, deciding against it. Jaskirat’s moods could be unpredictable. “She says the negotiations are going reasonably well.”

Jaskirat hummed. “Anything else?”

“We’ve had a few inquiries from the British Secret Intelligence Service.”

Jaskirat lifted his gaze. “Again?”

Vlad nodded, frowning. “They don’t seem suspicious—they have nothing on us—but they’re requesting a meeting with you. By all accounts, you were the last person Uzair Baloch met before his disappearance a month ago.”

“I have already told everything I know to the Russian police,” Jaskirat said, levelling him with a flat look. “The SIS can ask them. Why are you bothering me with this?”

 Vlad pursed his lips. “Don’t you think you should agree to meet them? To dispel any suspicion?”

“I’m the owner of multiple corporations all over the world,” Jaskirat said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My schedule is booked months in advance. It would be far too suspicious if I agreed to an unofficial request, considering that I supposedly barely know the missing person and spent a total of five minutes in his company. I have a bullet-proof alibi.”

“Yes, but…Maybe Baloch has told them about the bad blood between you two,” Vlad said. “If he has, they’ll know you have a motive.”

“Faiz Baloch will lose far more than me if he talks,” Jaskirat said before returning his gaze to the computer. “You may go.”

When Vlad didn’t move, Jaskirat looked up again. “Anything else?”

Vlad bit the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t have all day, Vlad,” Jaskirat said.

“It’s been over a month since we got the boy,” Vlad said, haltingly. “And you haven’t used him yet.”

Jaskirat bored his pale eyes into him.

Vlad swallowed, reminding himself that he was the closest thing Jaskirat had to a friend after Dhruv’s death.

“Are you asking me to explain myself to you?” Jaskirat said at last, his voice low and seemingly casual.

Vlad knew better. “Not at all,” he said quickly. “It’s just…I’m worried. The longer we keep him here, the bigger the security risk. At least let me ship him off to a more distant, secure location—maybe the safe house near Omsk or—”

“No.”

Vlad waited, but when no further explanation was provided, he gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as though he thought he was entitled to know all of Jaskirat’s plans, but this issue was actually his job. He was supposed to be informed of any potential security risks, and the boy currently locked up in Jaskirat’s rooms was going to become a bigger security risk the longer he stayed in the house just outside Saint Petersburg. While Vlad was confident in his men’s loyalty, he didn’t delude himself into thinking that leaks were impossible.

“But,” he tried again. “The boy—”

Jaskirat stared him down. “The boy is none of your concern. Dismissed.”

Nodding tightly, Vlad left the room.

Once he was back in the control centre, he sat in his chair and looked blankly at the security feeds.

After a moment, he keyed a passcode into the data pad and brought up the security feed for Baloch boy’s room.

The kid was sprawled on the bed, reading a book. Vlad frowned; he didn’t think there had been books in that room.

He stared at the screen some more, disconcerted by how comfortable the boy looked for someone who was a captive.

Vlad was about to close the security feed when the boy suddenly looked up from his book, toward the door.

Jaskirat entered the room and said something. There was no audio, so Vlad could only guess what was being said. Uzair responded and, pursing his lips, returned his eyes to the book. Discarding his jacket, Jaskirat walked to the bed and tipped the boy’s head up. Baloch’s brat glared at him, lips folding into a pout.

Vlad’s jaw dropped when the boy practically jumped on Jaskirat and kissed him, legs wrapping around Jaskirat’s waist.

So the boy was a homo. Now it made sense why Vlad felt on edge around him.

Sneering, Vlad waited for Jaskirat to shove the slut away and punch him in the mouth.

Except Jaskirat kissed back, his hands settling on Uzair’s ass.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

When Jaskirat pushed the boy onto the mattress and crawled on top of him, Vlad closed the live feed and stared blankly at the dark screen.

He’d known something was off when Jaskirat had stopped fucking around, but he would’ve never guessed this after the scolding he’d received from Jaskirat for being a little distracted by that little shit.

Goddamn hypocrite, Vlad thought darkly, a tight feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

Uzair took the tray and ignored his words. In the past six days since Jaskirat had left, he had perfected the art of ignoring Jaskirat’s head of security. It wasn’t difficult. He didn’t know what Jaskirat had told Vlad, but these days the beefy blond barely dared look at him when he brought him food. It was kind of funny how carefully Vlad avoided any eye contact. It was a stark contrast to the way the guy had behaved before: the look in Vlad’s eyes had used to make Uzair uncomfortable whenever Vlad had visited him. Now the guy barely glanced his way, even when he scowled and berated Uzair for something.

“He’ll be angry if he comes back and finds you here,” Vlad persisted.

Uzair shrugged. “He should have locked the room from my side, then,” he said, turning on the TV and making himself comfortable against the pillows. The TV was the main reason he had been hanging out here more often than in his own room, choosing to ignore Vlad’s disapproval when he caught him in Jaskirat’s room for the first time several days ago.

Although most channels were Russian, it was such a relief to have something to take his mind off the situation he was in—and the boredom gnawing at his senses.

Uzair was a social person. He’d never been all that good at entertaining himself, and nothing had been happening. Sometimes he would see the guards laughing, drinking, and exchanging dirty jokes in the backyard. Sometimes he would hear distant sounds of drunken songs and laughter through the door. It seemed that with the boss gone, Jaskirat’s men became far too relaxed and undisciplined. They never behaved that way when Jaskirat was in the house. Uzair was positive that if he hadn’t been locked up, he could have slipped away unnoticed. He could have escaped.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Vlad said.

Uzair poured himself some coffee and sipped it, studying Vlad over the rim of his mug. He knew Vlad wanted him; he had noticed it from the first day. He was pretty sure Vlad was latent homosexual. He did consider using Vlad to escape, but the idea of seducing him turned his stomach. He couldn’t do it. Not only was he not attracted to the guy in the least, but he also felt anything but safe with him. Unlike Jaskirat, Vlad could be violent without any reason. Uzair remembered the sadistic gleam in his eyes when Vlad had watched the guards rough him up.

He had to be careful.

“I’m pretty sure it’s you who isn’t supposed to be here,” Uzair said calmly. “You’re supposed to bring me food and then go. Your boss wouldn’t be pleased to find out you’re disobeying his orders.” Uzair couldn’t deny it felt good to know that Jaskirat’s orders were protecting him. Obviously Jaskirat had some ulterior motives for giving such orders, but the fact remained that Vlad could do nothing to him. And they both knew it.

Vlad scowled and stormed out, muttering in Russian that Uzair was going to regret it once Jaskirat returned.

Uzair frowned. Truth be told, he wasn’t all that sure Vlad was wrong. Strictly speaking, Jaskirat hadn’t explicitly allowed him to hang out in his bedroom. Jaskirat had simply left him in this room after…

Sighing, Uzair set his mug down and started channel-surfing, trying to ignore the restless feeling under his skin. The time was dragging so slowly. It was Wednesday; Jaskirat wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, and Uzair felt itchy with impatience. It was just…He felt like he was stuck in limbo, waiting for any news from the outside world. It had been almost three weeks since his kidnapping, and he had so many questions and no answers. He kept wondering what was happening to his family and friends. He was worried about Sameer: his friend had been far too depressed to be left alone for such a long time. Was Sameer even eating? And surely Uzair’s father must know by now that he had been kidnapped. Had he been contacted already? His mother? Was there any ransom demand?

It wouldn’t make any sense, though. Jaskirat didn’t exactly need money. He was filthy rich, his official net worth making him one of the wealthiest men in Eastern Europe (and Uzair had little doubt his official net worth wasn’t anywhere close to his actual net worth). But if it wasn’t money Jaskirat was after, why was Uzair even here? Sure, the whole kidnapping thing could be a simple act of revenge against his father, but Uzair hadn’t been harmed, so what was the point? Yes, prior to Jaskirat’s arrival, his men roughed him up a bit, but Uzair didn’t think it was on Jaskirat’s orders. Or was it? Was Jaskirat just playing some elaborate mind-game?

Fuck, it was all so bewildering and frustrating—even without taking into account the…the thing between him and Jaskirat that was becoming hard to ignore.

Twice. It had happened twice already.

It wasn’t even the blowjobs that bothered Uzair. It was the attraction, the sheer strength of it, the almost slavish intensity of that pull. What should one call attraction to a cold, manipulative man one didn’t even like? A case of stupid.

Uzair laughed out loud. Yeah, definitely. It was so stupid. He had promised himself he was done getting involved with assholes. He had promised. He wanted to meet a nice guy, fall in love, and start a family with him. A real family. A husband. Lots of kids. A nice, cozy house filled with laughter, joy, and love. Sameer called him a hopeless sap, but Uzair wasn’t ashamed of his dreams. Having grown up with a distant father and a mother who had lived separately for most of his life, Uzair had always yearned for a home and family. Being gay complicated everything a little—or a lot, considering what a homophobe his father was—but Uzair refused to give up on his dream. It was the twenty-first century. Gay people could get married in some countries. There were ways to have children, too: adoption, surrogacy. His dreams were achievable. He just had to find a nice man to build a life with—and stop getting hung up on assholes.

Uzair smiled crookedly. So far he was doing a fantastic job. Jaskirat made all his ex-boyfriends seem like saints in comparison. His exes were just assholes; they weren’t even in the same league as Jaskirat, who actually did things like kidnap people—and probably things far worse than that. And yet he let the guy touch him and shove his dick down his throat whenever Jaskirat wanted. Hell, he had been eager for that. It was so embarrassing, even by his pitiful standards. Sameer would call him an idiot and be absolutely right.

Sighing, Uzair focused his attention on the TV screen. It was showing an episode of Masha and The Bear. He had seen it before with his nephew, Faizal, but for some reason, the cartoon was a lot funnier in Russian, and Uzair found himself giggling at Masha’s silly antics.

“What are you doing here?”

Uzair’s grin slipped from his face

--------

Jaskirat barely paid attention to Vlad’s report as he strode toward his room. He was exhausted after the flight and all he wanted was his bed.

“Later, Vlad,” he said, punching the code in on the keypad and pushing the door open.

He went still at the sight that greeted him.

Uzair was sprawled on his bed, giggling at something on the TV, his curls in disarray, dimples framing his mouth. He was wearing a violet t-shirt —Jaskirat hadn’t even known he owned something that colour—that had ridden up to his thighs.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskirat heard himself say.

Uzair turned his head and stared at him, his grin fading.

Before the boy could respond, Vlad, who still stood behind Jaskirat, cut in hurriedly in Russian, “Look, I told the brat to leave, but he didn’t obey. He—”

“Get out,” Jaskirat said, his eyes trained on Uzair.

Pursing his lips, the boy sat up, but Jaskirat bit off,

“I’m talking to you, Vlad. You’re dismissed.”

A beat passed before Vlad nodded and left. Jaskirat stepped inside, letting the door close, the lock engaging.

They were alone now.

After a moment, Uzair shifted his gaze back to the TV, staring at it with a great deal of interest—perhaps with too much interest for that to be genuine. Jaskirat followed his gaze and only then realized what Uzair was watching.

“You’re watching cartoons,” Jaskirat said flatly. He dropped his suitcase on the chair and started unbuttoning his jacket, but his gaze kept returning to the boy still lounging in his bed. His t-shirt was too big on Uzair, leaving his creamy neck and collarbone exposed. Despite Jaskirat’s exhaustion, his cock twitched and started thickening. Jaskirat gritted his teeth, irritated by his body’s reaction to this boy once again.

“I love cartoons,” Uzair said lightly. His hand, Jaskirat noticed, was gripping the duvet.

“You love cartoons,” Jaskirat said. “Are you an actual child?”

“Don’t be so narrow-minded,” Uzair said, keeping his eyes on the screen. “We all have a little bit of kid inside of us. I love kids, and I love cartoons. They can teach us valuable lessons.” He smiled a little.

He was fucking ridiculous. Baloch couldn’t have possibly produced this strange boy.

“I have a nephew,” Uzair volunteered, breaking the silence. “I’d love to have my own kids someday.”

“You?” Jaskirat didn’t bother to hide his amusement.

Uzair finally dragged his eyes from the screen to glare at him. A disgruntled kitten, indeed. “Yes, me. What’s so funny?”

“You’re a baby yourself,” Jaskirat said, taking him in from head to bare toes.

“Appearances can be misleading,” Uzair said, flushing. “I’ll have you know I’m great with babies. It’s always been my dream to have a big family, have lots of kids.” He hesitated before adding, “And a loving husband.”

Jaskirat felt his lips curl in distaste.

“What?” Uzair said, his chin lifting. He turned the TV off. “You think there’s something wrong with it? With being gay?”

“With being gay? Personally, I never got the appeal, but I don’t care what people get off to. Different strokes.” Jaskirat loosened his tie. “But don’t you think it’s unnatural to want a family with a man?” There was something objectionable about the idea of Uzair having a “loving husband.”

He didn’t like it.

Uzair cocked his head to the side, his fringe falling into his brown eyes. “I understand why you might feel that way,” he said, his voice soft. “I know homophobia is more prominent in Russian society than in England. But you’re wrong. There’s documented evidence of homosexual behaviour in animals, too. So it’s not unnatural. Just different from the norm.”

The boy’s fingers were still clenched.

“You aren’t as blasé about it as you pretend,” Jaskirat said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’m not,” Uzair admitted with a crooked smile. “I already told you about my dad’s views. I tried hard to be ‘normal’ to make him happy. I changed the way I dressed and the way I acted, but I couldn’t change what I wanted, no matter how hard I tried to like girls. And I tried. But eventually, I gave up. I like men. I’ve made peace with it. If I was born that way, it can’t be wrong or unnatural.”

“Why don’t you tell that to your father, then?”

Uzair dropped his gaze and shrugged, his t-shirt slipping off his shoulder. “I’m…Okay, yeah, I’m scared of his reaction.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not ready to come out to him. I guess he will find out when I meet the man of my dreams and decide to settle down.”

Jaskirat shrugged his shirt off. “The man of your dreams,” he said, not bothering to hide the mockery in his voice. “And who is that?”

Uzair’s fingers stroked his bare thigh, more of a nervous gesture than anything else, his long eyelashes almost touching his creamy skin. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’ll recognize him when I see him. Obviously he must be attractive, and he must have the balls to stand up to my father. But first and foremost, he must be good-natured and nice. He must love kids and want the same things as me.” A faint blush tinted his cheeks. “And he must adore me, of course.”

Of course.

Jaskirat threw his shirt in the laundry basket.

Flinching, Uzair looked up. His gaze swept over Jaskirat’s bare chest before meeting his eyes. The silence stretched, taut and tangible.

“You look…angry,” Uzair murmured.

“I’m never angry,” Jaskirat said. That was true, to an extent. He couldn’t remember the last time he showed his anger outwardly. Any strong emotion was a potential weakness he couldn’t afford to display. He had distanced himself from the majority of his family for a reason. They were safer that way. It was easier that way for him, too.

“You returned early,” Uzair said. “Did something happen? Is there any news?” His dark eyes were wide and beautiful, and his lips looked soft and very pink. It was irritating. Everything about the boy irritated him: the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he fucking breathed.

Jaskirat felt his jaw clench. In a few long strides, he crossed the distance between them and yanked the boy up by the collar of his shirt. “Do you think you’re a guest here?”

Uzair blinked slowly. “No?” he said, his voice still irritatingly soft and musical, even as his breathing became unsteady.

“You seem to think you’re entitled to answers,” Jaskirat said, only a few inches separating them. “That I owe you any explanation.”

“I…” Uzair said, looking a little flustered. He stared at Jaskirat, the expression on his face earnest and open. “I just want to know why I’m here —what you want with me. I think that’s fair, don’t you think?”

Fair?

“I think,” Jaskirat said, letting his voice acquire an edge he reserved for dealing with enemies he had every intention of crushing. “I think I’ve been too soft with you.”

Uzair’s Adam’s apple moved. Biting his lip, he shook his head.

“No?” Jaskirat said, amused despite himself.

A dimple appearing in his cheek, the boy shook his head again, his curls framing his heart-shaped face like a halo. It wasn’t endearing. At all.

More than a little annoyed, Jaskirat dug the fingers of his free hand into Uzair’s hip. Uzair inhaled shakily, his pupils blowing wide.

“For a fairy boy who dreams of nice men and sappy romance, you sure like it rough,” Jaskirat said.

Uzair flushed. “For a homophobic man, you sure like groping me. Are you sure you aren’t a ‘fairy’ too?”

 When he was touching this boy, he wasn’t sure of a damn thing.

Jaskirat said mildly, “Is that supposed to offend me? Besides, if I let you suck my dick a few times, it doesn’t mean I’m into men. You have blowjob lips. That’s all.”

Something shattered in Uzair’s expression, the look in his eyes becoming fragile and hurt. Unease curled low in Jaskirat’s stomach. It only made him angrier. For fuck’s sake. He never cared about hurting people, much less about hurting people’s feelings.

“Okay,” Uzair said, averting his gaze. “Fair enough. I’ve been told that before.”

Jaskirat’s lips thinned.

“Let go, please,” Uzair said softly, still not looking at him. “I get it: I’m nothing but a pawn for you, and I shouldn’t expect to be treated like a person. I got it. I get it—”

Jaskirat grabbed his head and kissed him, pouring his anger into the greedy kiss.

Damn you. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Yes, he had fully intended to fuck with Uzair’s mind, make him dependent on him and need him. He’d already half-conditioned the boy to want Jaskirat’s attention, his kisses and his cock. He had fully intended to kiss the boy at some point after his return—days later—after making Uzair wonder and second-guess himself.

He wasn’t supposed to be licking the boy’s mouth with his tongue as soon as he returned. He wasn’t supposed to think of Uzair’s mouth and skin during business meetings. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to rush back from the airport like a hormonal teenager, impatient to get his hands on the boy.

Uzair was rigid for exactly four seconds before going deliciously pliant against his chest and starting to suck on Jaskirat’s tongue with muffled moans that went straight to Jaskirat’s cock. Uzair’s responsiveness was beyond arousing, washing all his reservations away and making him greedy and hungry. He wanted to fucking destroy this ridiculous boy, with his irritating dimples and ridiculous lips, with his soft smiles and soft voice, with his silly, sappy dreams. He wanted to wreck him, take him apart, and put a collar on him with Jaskirat’s—

Breathing hard, Jaskirat wrenched his mouth away, dropping Uzair back on the bed.

What the fuck.

He took a few deep breaths before finally looking at Uzair. He lay, panting, on Jaskirat’s bed, his lips wet and swollen, his eyes glossy with desire, his cock tenting the fabric of his shirt. The latter should have been a turn-off, but it had the opposite effect.

 I want to fuck him.

The strength of that desire was startling. He’d told Uzair the truth: although he didn’t consider himself a raging homophobe, Jaskirat could never before understand the appeal of fucking men. Flat chests simply held no appeal to him. Even fucking a man’s mouth was one thing— a wet mouth really was just a wet mouth—but engaging in anal sex with a man was a different matter entirely. He’d never thought he would want it.

And yet, as he looked down at the young man sprawled out in his bed, flushed, beautiful and aroused, all Jaskirat wanted was to climb on top of him, push his legs apart, shove his cock inside him, and fuck him for hours. For days.

He didn’t know what was written on his face, but Uzair let out a laugh that sounded more like a groan. “No way. Forget about it,” he said hoarsely, his eyes dark and bottomless. “I’m done letting straight assholes fuck me over.”

Jaskirat retrieved a bottle of lube and condoms from the bedside drawer. He tossed the bottle to Uzair. “You know what to do.”

The boy opened and closed his mouth before glaring at him. His glares were about as effective as a kitten’s. He was lovely. Jaskirat wanted to stick his cock in his every hole.

“I don’t want this,” Uzair whispered. “If you want it, you’ll have to force me.”

Jaskirat thumbed open the button of his fly. “I’m not in the mood to play that game tonight.” His gaze roamed over Uzair’s smooth legs, his cock aching as he imagined them wrapped around his waist. “Let’s drop the bullshit, shall we? I want to fuck you. You want me to fuck you, even though I’m not the nice man you want to have babies with.” He sneered at that, his irritation spiking. “Prep yourself,” he said. He could do it himself, but the less he touched the boy, the better. Touching him was fucking addictive, and nicotine was the only addiction he allowed himself.

Uzair licked his lips. “And what if I don’t?”

“You’ll go to your room, and I’ll find a nice, willing woman to take your place,” Jaskirat said, shrugging and pulling his zipper down. “No difference for me.” It was a lie. He didn’t want a hole to fuck. He wanted to fuck this boy, feel him come apart under him, on his cock.

 A beat passed, then another.

When Uzair reached for the lube, Jaskirat’s body tensed, blood rushing to his cock. He tore his eyes away and resumed undressing, keeping his movements unhurried. It wouldn’t do to show impatience. He’d made enough mistakes already. Fucking Baloch’s son this evening hadn’t been in his plans. Fucking him hadn’t been in his plans, full stop.

Only once he was completely naked, he put on a condom and allowed himself to look back at Uzair.

Shit.

Uzair’s shirt had ridden up to his chest, revealing the creamy skin of his stomach, his hard cock, his shapely, strong thighs, and slim, toned legs that were surprisingly long. His pink hole was glistening with lube, taking three fingers easily. He was a sight to behold: all flushed and pretty, an innocent angel and a whore.

Dark, glazed eyes met his. Uzair bit his bottom lip and started moving his fingers harder and deeper, looking at Jaskirat from under his eyelashes and panting.

“Stop,” Jaskirat said, lubing himself up. His balls were aching already, sweat beading on his brow. “Fingers out.”

Uzair pulled out his fingers and sighed, squirming, his hole pulsing around nothing. He stared at Jaskirat’s thick erection with what could only be described as hunger, his pupils blown.

“Shirt off. Lay down facing the bed,” Jaskirat said, squeezing the base of his cock. It wasn’t really what he wanted. He wanted to fuck the boy on his back, holding his wrists down and kissing his pretty mouth. He wanted to watch his every reaction and see his face when he came. That was why he wouldn’t do it. The less personal it was, the better.

Uzair laid down face-first and arched his bare back, his perky ass up in the air. Fucking hell.

Jaskirat knelt behind him and gripped his hips, watching the milky skin redden under his fingers. He could still stop. He was about to fuck a man. He was about to stick his cock in another man’s hole.

He didn’t want to stop.

“This is a terrible idea,” Uzair whispered, his voice catching.

“It is,” Jaskirat agreed before slowly pushing his cock in.

They both grunted, Jaskirat gritting his teeth as incredible tightness enveloped his cock. The urge to move, the urge to take was irresistible.

He didn’t move. He stayed still, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Uzair whined, sounding dazed already. “Move,” he whispered, squirming. “Please.”

“No,” Jaskirat said. “If you want to be fucked, you’ll have to work for it.”

“I don’t understand,” Uzair said, sounding frustrated as he shifted his hips impatiently.

Jaskirat chuckled hoarsely and pulled out until only the tip remained inside, his eyes locked on where their bodies were connected. His cock looked obscenely huge and red between the boy’s pale cheeks. “Fuck yourself on my cock, kotyonok(kitty). Take what you need.”

Uzair made a small sound. He braced himself on the pillow, sucking in breaths, and then slammed his hips back.

Jaskirat hissed but remained still, watching Uzair fuck himself the way he liked it. He didn’t angle his hips at all, leaving it up to Uzair to twist and squirm in order to hit his sweet spot. Soon, Uzair was impaling himself on his cock with feverish intensity, setting a brutal rhythm for them that sent the headboard knocking against the wall as he rocked back onto Jaskirat’s cock over and over, panting and whimpering a little.

Jaskirat gritted his teeth. He could see that the boy was getting tired, his breathing becoming harsher, his arms and thighs shaking with exertion. It took all his self-control not to thrust his hips, deeper into the tight heat.

“Please,” Uzair said, nearly sobbing as his arms gave out. “Please.”

Jaskirat leaned down, so that his chest was pressing against Uzair’s back, so that he was completely covering him, and then he snapped his hips forward. Uzair let out a happy sound and relaxed as Jaskirat took charge, pounding into him and grinding him into the mattress with every thrust.

“Oh God.” Uzair wasn’t very loud, but he let out a nearly constant string of moans as Jaskirat rocked his hips into him mercilessly, loving the view of his cock disappearing into Uzair’s stretched hole.

“Enjoying yourself?” Jaskirat grunted, mouthing the back of the boy’s neck. He liked how small Uzair was, his body easily accessible everywhere. “Look at you, getting fucked by a man who kidnapped you, and enjoying it.” He bit the boy’s earlobe. “Such a slutty little thing. Isn’t that right, kitty?” He dragged his cock out and slammed back in.

Uzair whimpered, burying his face in the pillow and lifting his ass higher. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Don’t stop.”

Jaskirat didn’t stop. He wasn’t sure he even could, all his senses narrowing to the boy’s tight hole around his throbbing cock, and Uzair’s wanton moans and groans. The boy was a whore for cock; he was truly getting off on being fucked roughly, his moans increasing in volume with each thrust, each time Jaskirat called him something derogatory. Such a kinky little thing.

Dazedly, Jaskirat wondered if his people could hear Uzair’s moans, if they could guess that their boss was fucking the male captive. Let them hear. He wanted them to hear. He wanted everyone to know how much the boy was enjoying being nailed on his cock.

“Please—please,” Uzair croaked between his moans as Jaskirat kept his relentless pace. “Touch me. Need it.”

Sliding his hand under Uzair, Jaskirat wrapped it around his cock and gave a few tugs, thrusting hard inside him. Uzair cried out and came, his hole clenching around Jaskirat’s cock. He shook for a long while, stunned and fucked-out, and Jaskirat fucked him through his orgasm, chasing his own, low grunts escaping his throat. Uzair was boneless under him, panting as Jaskirat’s cock thrusted in and out of him. Almost there—

Burying his face in Uzair’s damp curls, Jaskirat bit at his nape and thrust a few more times, groaning as he spilled inside the condom.

He remained still on top of the slim body for a long while, steading his ragged breathing.

At last, he pulled out, rolled off and flopped onto his back, his chest heaving. He tied the condom and threw it in the direction of the trash can. Uzair shifted beside him and burrowed into Jaskirat’s side, pressing his cheek against Jaskirat’s biceps.

Jaskirat stiffened.

He turned his head. Uzair had his eyes half-closed, his face still flushed, his raven curls glistening with sweat, a hint of a smile on his plump lips. Jaskirat could barely believe this was the same boy who got off on being slut-shamed and called homophobic names. He looked like a sleepy, satisfied kitten. He looked sated and happy.

Jaskirat wanted to push him away.

He didn’t, of course. This was good. This was excellent, actually. This meant he hadn’t completely messed up his plans. Jaskirat could put up with some post-coital snuggling if that was what the boy needed.

“You’re a good lay,” Uzair said sleepily, fingers playing with the sparse dark hair on Jaskirat’s chest. “For a straight, homophobic prick.”

Jaskirat buried his hand in Uzair’s hair. “And how many straight, homophobic pricks have you fucked?”

“You’re not the first,” Uzair mumbled, leaning into his touch.

Jaskirat tugged on a curl.

“What?” Uzair murmured, looking at him. His eyes were still glazed and soft. “You think you’re the first straight guy led astray by my ‘blowjob lips’?” Uzair smiled, but there was an edge to it.

 Someone had hurt him in the past.

“Led astray?” Jaskirat said. “I’m a grown man, sweetheart. I’m fully responsible for my actions. A pretty mouth isn’t enough to sway me if I don’t let it.”

Uzair looked at him a little uncertainly.

“I fucked you because I wanted it,” Jaskirat clarified, looking him in the eye. “Simple as that. Anyone who claims otherwise is a spineless coward.”

Uzair chuckled. “Please, stop making sense. You’re the villain. Don’t deviate from the script.”

“Even villains are allowed to have a few semi-redeeming moments.”

“Not you,” Uzair said, smiling sleepily. “You’re supposed to be a royal dickhead all the time.”

“Yeah?” Jaskirat said, eyeing the deep dimple in the boy’s cheek.

“Yep,” Uzair said solemnly before yawning. “Think I’m gonna sleep here,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

“Really,” Jaskirat said, looking at him in disbelief. No one simply invited themselves into his bed. People knew better.

“If you want me to leave, you’ll have to carry me to my room,” Uzair mumbled. “My legs always feel like jelly after a good shag. So it’s your fault.”

“Aren’t you scared of me anymore?” Jaskirat said, feeling more amused than annoyed, to his own surprise.

Uzair opened his eyes and looked at him seriously.

“You do scare me sometimes,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know you’re not a good person. I know you’re capable of horrible things. But physically, I feel safe with you—right now. It might change, though.” He smiled a little. “I’m not naive enough to think you won’t hurt me if you decide it will benefit you.”

Jaskirat stared at him. The boy kept surprising him. He wasn’t wrong: Jaskirat had no interest in hurting him. Not at the moment.

“You may stay,” he said finally.

Nodding, Uzair slung an arm over Jaskirat’s chest and snuggled in closer. “I love cuddles,” he said, yawning. “Don’t take it personally. All people I fuck know it’s something they’ll have to put up with afterward. I’m the biggest cuddle monster you’ll ever meet.” He closed his eyes. “Good night.”

“Good night, cuddle monster,” Jaskirat said wryly and reached out to turn the light off, leaving on only the dim bedside lamp.

He breathed evenly for a while, trying to distance himself from the warm male body pressed to his side, from the soft curls his fingers were still tangled in.

He’d just had sex with a man.

Jaskirat waited, but the feeling of wrongness he half-expected to feel never came. The sex had been good. More than good.

Shaking the thought off, he focused on his plans.

The boy was almost his.

Almost.

Turning his head, Jaskirat looked at Uzair. He was sleeping like a baby, foolishly oblivious to what a monster he was snuggled up to.

----------

Uzair couldn’t breathe.

Or rather, he could, but every breath took a great deal of effort, because his face was buried in the pillow and he was crushed under something big and heavy.

Before panic could settle in his sleepy mind, a familiar scent hit his nostrils. Jaskirat. Of course it was him.

Uzair breathed out and then almost laughed. The whole thing was bizarre. Relief was the last thing he should have been feeling in this situation. He couldn’t be that stupid to think he was safe with this man, regardless of the fantastic dicking he’d gotten last night.

Thinking of last night certainly didn’t help his morning wood. It also didn’t help that Jaskirat’s breath landed on the sensitive skin of his cheek every time he breathed. And was that…? Yep, the hard length pressed against his ass was unmistakable.

Biting his lip, Uzair listened. Jaskirat was still asleep, his breathing steady and slow. He was sprawled mostly on top of Uzair, heavy and firm in all the right places. His body was all muscle, a body of a man in his prime, not at all like the bodies of guys his own age Uzair usually slept with.

God, it was all so very unfair. Uzair had always had a bit of a thing for fit older men, assholes, authority figures, men who looked like they could crush you and not break into a sweat—and Jaskirat was all of those things. It was as though Jaskirat was a perfect blend of all the wrong traits Uzair shouldn’t be drawn to but was.

He shouldn’t have let Jaskirat fuck him. He should have left when Jaskirat had given him the choice; Uzair knew that. Except he hadn’t wanted to spend another night listening to some woman’s moans. He was the one who had given Jaskirat that erection. It was his.

Great. Apparently now he was getting possessive over the guy’s erection. It wasn’t weird at all.

Uzair squirmed a little, trying to dislodge Jaskirat and get out of bed, but it was an exercise in futility. Not only hadn’t he managed that, but all the squirming only turned him on and Uzair found himself flushed and panting raggedly under Jaskirat’s body, unsure whether he wanted to get up after all or not. Scratch that, of course he wanted to—he could barely breathe and he was sticky inside and out—but his traitorous, silly body was perfectly content to remain where it was, underneath the man who had him kidnapped for God-knows-what reasons.

He squirmed again half-heartedly and his breath caught in his throat when Jaskirat’s erection poked between his cheeks, catching on the rim of his hole.

Jaskirat grunted and tensed up against him, his breathing no longer steady. Teeth scraped Uzair’s neck.

“Hochu yobnut tebya, kudryashka, (I want to fuck you curly)” Jaskirat said in Russian, his voice still hoarse from sleep. “Hochu trahnut tebya bez rezinki. (I want to fuck you without a condom)”

Uzair shuddered. He hadn’t understood everything Jaskirat had said, but the general gist was pretty clear: Jaskirat wanted to fuck him without a condom, and he had used some of the filthiest Russian words for “fuck.” It wasn’t the words that shocked him; it was the fact that Uzair wanted it, too, and that shook him to his core. Sex without a condom was the deepest form of intimacy, something that required complete trust in your partner. Uzair never let anyone fuck him without one. Wanting it with this man was pure madness. Was he crazy?

Deeply uncomfortable, Uzair muttered, “You’re crushing me.”

After a moment, Jaskirat rolled off him and lay on his side, propping himself up on an elbow.

Breathing out, Uzair turned his head to him. Jaskirat was regarding him intently, his light green eyes still a little hazy from sleep.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, trying not to ogle Jaskirat’s wide shoulders and muscular chest too blatantly. “I’m not letting you fuck me without a condom. I never let anyone do that.”

A corner of Jaskirat’s mouth twitched. “Is that honour reserved for your nice man?”

There definitely was a mocking edge to his voice when he had said the word “nice.”

Uzair scowled. “Maybe, maybe not. But a man who has a new woman every night definitely doesn’t get to do it.”

The bastard actually grinned. “You’re cute when you get jealous.” Before Uzair could tell him how ridiculous it was, Jaskirat leaned in and licked the corner of Uzair’s lips. “Go brush your teeth. I want to kiss your pretty mouth.”

“Your morning breath doesn’t exactly smell like roses, either,” Uzair grumbled, though Jaskirat’s morning breath was fine.

“Evil men get leeway,” Jaskirat said, his face dead serious. “It’s in the ‘How to Be Evil For Dummies.’ Latest edition.”

Uzair couldn’t stop a giggle. Jaskirat stared at him with a strange expression. “You have thirty seconds to brush your teeth, Curly. Then you’re going to return here, suck on my tongue, and sit on my cock.”

It was rather embarrassing how fast Uzair rolled out of the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom.

At least, Uzair consoled himself later, he had enough willpower to insist on a condom.

It was a small comfort.

---------

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

man i rlly need to align my playlist with the story cuz wtf is my song choice- listening "baby tere bday pe goli chalvavengeeeee~~~" and many haryanvi and bhojpuri songs while working on a russian mafia yaoi isn't..........normal........... THANKYOU FOR READING!!!!!

He hadn’t known what to expect from the other man after last night. Heck, he hadn’t known what to expect from himself after last night. He wasn’t sure how to act around Jaskirat anymore. His half-baked plan to pretend to be a clueless, vulnerable kid to make Jaskirat drop his guard around him seemed so laughable now. He didn’t need to pretend. He felt terribly self-conscious and vulnerable after revealing to Jaskirat Rangi, of all people, his most embarrassing kink: that he got off on being forced, used, demeaned and called derogatory words. None of his former boyfriends had known about that particular kink. Uzair had always been too ashamed to tell them, feeling like a freak for getting off on something like that. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him: he hated homophobic slurs and felt sick at the mere thought of actually being forced, so why did he turn into a different person when he was turned on? Why couldn’t he be normal?

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Uzair said, keeping his eyes firmly on the tray of food and resisting the urge to move away from the man next to him. The bed seemed so small with Jaskirat’s long, wide-shouldered body stretched out casually on it. Did he have to sit on Uzair’s bed? There was a perfectly good chair in the room.

“Why?” Jaskirat said.

“I don’t know about you, but sex is kind of a private matter for me,” Uzair said as calmly as he could, cutting a piece off an apple with his knife and sticking it in his mouth. He would wonder why Jaskirat allowed him to have a knife if he had any delusions about his ability to take him on in a physical fight. It was obvious Jaskirat’s muscles weren’t the result of workouts and diet. Jaskirat moved with the fluidity and confidence of a man who knew how to use his body as a weapon.

The question was: Why was this dangerous—and likely very busy— man wasting his time watching Uzair eat and asking about things Uzair had no desire to discuss?

It was all very bewildering, especially after last night—after Jaskirat fucked his mouth, kissed him until his toes literally curled, and then went to his bedroom to fuck some woman whose moans Uzair could hear even through the two doors separating their rooms.

Uzair pursed his lips.

“You weren’t such a prudish little thing last night,” Jaskirat said.

“Last night was a mistake,” Uzair said stiffly, looking at the leftovers on his plate and fighting a blush. “I’m not—I’m not like that.”

“Like what? Gay?”

“No, obviously I’m gay.” Uzair lifted his eyes to Jaskirat. He tried not to look at the little wisps of skin peeking out from under Jaskirat’s halfway unbuttoned shirt. “Look, you got the wrong impression. I’m not into that kind of thing—not really. I’ve had four boyfriends and I didn’t do anything like that with any of them.”

A faint smile curled Jaskirat’s lips. “I’m flattered.”

When Uzair glared at him, Jaskirat’s smile widened, becoming amused. The smile actually touched his cold eyes, and, for the first time, Uzair realized how attractive and charming this man could be if he wanted to. The thought unsettled him. He didn’t want to notice it.

“It doesn’t say much about your relationships if you couldn’t tell your partners what you were into,” Jaskirat said, studying him through his hooded eyes.

Sweeping his gaze around the room, Uzair said, “It’s not—it really isn’t a big deal. A relationship is more important to me than some weird kinks.” Uzair tucked a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s not like I’m that into it. I’m not a freak.”

Jaskirat’s assessing stare was starting to get on his nerves.

“What?” Uzair said uncomfortably.

“Your parents divorced when you were eight,” Jaskirat said.

Uzair blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah,” he said, unsure where this was going or why Jaskirat suddenly wanted to talk about his parents’ divorce, of all things.

“My sources say you were the main point of contention. Your mother wanted custody, but your father won it. He restricted your mother’s access to you.” Jaskirat’s face was impassive as he recited the bare facts of one of the most difficult periods in Uzair’s life.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Uzair nodded.

Jaskirat continued, “The details of the divorce were difficult to find, but apparently your father claimed that your mother was a bad influence and wasn’t fit to raise you. Why?”

Uzair picked up a banana and started to peel it. He knew he didn’t have to answer. He didn’t talk about this even with his friends. But then again, Jaskirat wasn’t a friend. Uzair was unlikely to ever see him again after this whole ordeal was over. Who would it hurt to answer truthfully? He couldn’t see how Jaskirat could use this information against him. Maybe if Jaskirat saw that he had nothing to hide, it would help Uzair in the long run. Not to mention that at this point Uzair was ready to talk about anything other than his embarrassing kinks.

“My father didn’t like how close she and I were,” he said with a shrug. He took a bite of the banana and chewed slowly. “Mum and I were best friends. She kind of…she was—is—an amazing mother, but she always wanted a daughter and had little clue how to raise a boy. All she had was me, and she did her best, but Dad was always away and very busy, so…” Uzair shrugged again, eyeing the banana in his hand.

“One day he came home and found me playing a grown-up in my mother’s clothes. He got angry.” The understatement of the century. He still flinched whenever he remembered the brutal flogging he’d received that day. Uzair cleared his throat. “He accused Mum of turning his son into—into a f-freak.” He cleared his throat again. “The funniest thing is, I’m not even into crossdressing. I was just playing, as all kids do.” And okay, he still did like colourful and pretty things, but that was neither here nor there.

Uzair put the banana down and took a sip of his coffee. “Anyway, my parents divorced, and my father hired a male tutor to make me…manly. To ‘make a man out of me’ and get rid of all the freakish nonsense Mum put in my head.” He chuckled, looking into his cup. He supposed it all had worked out in the end. His mother was happily married now, living in Los Angeles with a husband who loved her and three beautiful daughters she could spoil rotten without fearing her husband’s wrath. Uzair loved his half-sisters, although he only got to see them a few times a year and had little in common with them.

“A freak,” Jaskirat said in a strange tone. “I wouldn’t call you ‘manly.’ Do you think it makes you a freak?”

 His fingers trembling a little, Uzair put his cup on the tray and looked at Jaskirat. “If I like sucking cock and taking it up the ass, it doesn’t make me unmanly.” He was proud of how firm and sure his voice sounded. He felt anything but, his chest tight with a familiar panicky feeling. He felt eight all over again, trying to defend himself from his father’s derisive, cutting words. I’m normal, I’m normal, I’m normal.

No, he wasn’t normal. He’d always known that, hadn’t he? His father had used to comment derisively about his “effeminacy” until Uzair had learned to hide it better. Hell, even Sameer, who was gay himself and his closest friend, used to tease him, albeit good-naturedly, for being too romantic and girly, so Uzair tended to tone his personality down even around his friends. He dressed conservatively and had learned how to sound pragmatic and practical, had learned it so well that it became second nature to him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t completely erase the part of him that wanted to be pretty and looked longingly at patterned, colourful shirts—shirts that would make him look camp and effeminate and would make him a target for his father’s scathing criticism.

“No, what you like in bed has nothing to do with who you are,” Jaskirat said, watching him carefully. “But you’re implying there’s something wrong with not being ‘manly’ enough. You don’t sound like someone completely comfortable with who you are.”

Averting his gaze, Uzair let out a small laugh. “I’m gay, and I’m proud of it.”

Jaskirat put his thumb under Uzair’s chin and tipped it up, bringing their faces close. “Are you?” he said quietly. “Is that why you’re still in the closet? Or why you hide your curls and dress like a boring, middle-aged businessman? When I first saw you, I saw a little boy who seemed to be forcing himself to be something he wasn’t.”

Uzair could only look at him, his throat dry and thick. “I’m in the closet because I don’t have the most progressive dad in the world and because my dad happens to be a dangerous man with a quick temper. I dress that way because I want to look older and be taken seriously by assholes like you.” It wasn’t a lie, but why did it feel like he wasn’t being completely honest? Uzair glared, his fingers shaking. “It’s not because I suffer from internalized homophobia or something like that. Not all gay men are stereotypically flamboyant and effeminate.”

Jaskirat’s Light Green eyes didn’t move away from his face. “But some are,” he said. “And you seem to think there’s something wrong with it. You’re implying I’m homophobic. You’re likely right. But I think you actually have more issues with your sexuality than I do. You say you’re proud of being gay, but you’re afraid to look gay.”

“You don’t know me,” Uzair managed through the lump in his throat, his breath coming in short gasps. His heart was pounding obnoxiously fast in his chest. Anxiety attack. He was having an anxiety attack. He had to calm down. It was easier said than done. God, he couldn’t breathe. “You know nothing.”

“Did I hit a nerve, kitten?” Jaskirat said, stroking Uzair’s quivering bottom lip. He leaned to Uzair’s ear, his warm breath tickling him, and murmured, “You don’t have to be manly with me, you know. You don’t have to be anything. You can let go, sweetheart. Anything that happens here, stays here.” He kissed the spot below Uzair’s ear. God.

Uzair’s eyes closed of their own volition. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered, trying to breathe, trying to pull himself together and failing. He was shaking, a wave of nausea overcoming him. He wanted to sag against Jaskirat, let his forehead fall against his shoulder, and absorb his strength. “Why?” he said, trying to hold on to his sanity. “You want something.”

“Of course I do,” Jaskirat said, running his fingers through Uzair’s hair. “But it doesn’t mean I’m lying. I’m not going to judge you. I’m the last man who can judge anyone. You can let go, love. You can.” He stroked Uzair’s cheek with his knuckles.

Uzair all but mewled, leaning into Jaskirat’s touch, loving it and hating it. Why did this man affect him so easily? His proximity, his voice, his scent, his words.

Jaskirat kissed behind his ear. Goosebumps broke out on Uzair’s skin. He whined, needing—needing this, needing to be touched, held and reassured.

“Shh. How about you get in my lap, love? You’ll feel better.”

Uzair should have laughed in his face. Did Jaskirat really think he didn’t know how fake all these gentle touches and soft-spoken words were? Jaskirat was just using his moment of weakness.

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t resist when Jaskirat pulled him on his lap. He buried his face against the top of Jaskirat’s chest, where his shirt was unbuttoned and breathed in and out, losing himself in the scent of a man, a healthy, fit man in his prime. A strong hand stroked his back, pulling him closer to the wide chest. It felt so good, despite the warning bells ringing in the back of his mind.

Little by little, Uzair’s shaking subsided, his breathing evened out, clearing the fog surrounding his thoughts, and he started feeling self-conscious and embarrassed by his clingy mini-breakdown. God, it had been years since he’d had an anxiety attack. He had thought he had outgrown them for good. Apparently not.

Uzair pressed his cheek against Jaskirat’s chest. “Now what?” he said.

“Now you will tell me what kind of person Uzair Baloch really is. Not the one you try to be. The real one.”

His brows furrowing, Uzair snorted. “So you can use it against me?”

“I have nothing against you, Curly,” Jaskirat said, tugging on a curl. “I have a problem with your father. He will pay for what he did. Not you.”

“Then why am I here?” Uzair said sceptically.

Jaskirat took a moment to answer.

“Yes, I’m going to use you to achieve my goals,” he said. “But I can give you my word that once this is over, you’ll be back home, safe and unharmed.”

A criminal’s word should have meant very little. But Uzair had a feeling Jaskirat wasn’t one to give his word lightly. It helped that Jaskirat wasn’t even bothering to deny that he was going to use him against his father.

“Why do you think I don’t care about what happens to my father?”

“Do you?” Jaskirat said.

Did he?

Uzair thought about it—thought about the cold, distant man who had been mostly absent for most of his childhood.

“I don’t hate him,” Uzair said. “I just don’t know him. He’s basically a stranger to me. So if you’re hoping to get some dirt on him from me, don’t waste your time.” Uzair laughed a little. “You probably know him better than I do.” He smiled to himself, remembering all his failed attempts to get to know his father. “You asked who the real Uzair Baloch is,” he said quietly. “The thing is, I’m not sure. I’m a people-pleaser. I try to fit in every room I enter. In hindsight, maybe I did try to please my mother and be something she wanted, the same way I later tried to please my father and be the tough, manly heir he wanted—I don’t know. I guess I’ve always just wanted to be enough.” But never was. I wish I could find someone who would love me the way I am and wouldn’t want to change me.

He didn’t say it. Because the man he was talking to wasn’t his friend, no matter how easy and good it felt to talk to him. The fact that he was sitting on Jaskirat Singh Rangi’s lap, telling him his most intimate thoughts and letting the man pet his hair, was weird enough. He shouldn’t—couldn’t— trust this man. He shouldn’t take comfort from Jaskirat’s hands or words, or the steady beat of his heart against Uzair’s ear.

“I don’t know why I told you all of this,” Uzair said with a small laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing in your lap. Please do something evil soon. It’s freaking me out how nice this feels.”

Jaskirat chuckled. “Maybe that’s my evil plan,” he said.

For all Uzair knew, it could be.

It was a relief when Jaskirat’s phone went off. Reaching out, Jaskirat pulled it out of his discarded jacket and answered, “Rangi.” His voice was noticeably colder. Uzair wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Horosho. Ya budu tam skoro, (Fine. I'll be there soon)” Jaskirat said and hung up. He lifted Uzair off his lap and put him back on the bed, as if he weighed nothing. “I have to go.”

“Evil deeds to do, people to kidnap?” Uzair said with a crooked smile.

“Something like that,” Jaskirat said, looking at his smile for a moment before leaning down and biting his cheek, teeth sinking into the flesh.

Uzair yelped, more from surprise than any real pain.

“Um,” he said, touching his cheek and trying to read Jaskirat as the Russian stood up and slipped into his jacket. One glance at Jaskirat’s crotch confirmed that Jaskirat was half-hard. Uzair looked up to find Jaskirat watching him with an inscrutable expression.

Uzair licked his lips, fisting the duvet in his fingers. Jaskirat chuckled. “Relax, kotyonok(kitty). I’m not going to touch you.”

And then he was gone, leaving Uzair with a strange feeling in his chest that felt too much like disappointment for his liking.

Jaskirat didn’t visit him again that day. 

Later that night, Uzair buried his head under his pillow, trying to ignore the high-pitched female moans coming from Jaskirat’s bedroom. --------

Three days later, Uzair stared moodily at the locked door of Jaskirat’s bedroom. He couldn’t hear anything from the other side.

He lifted his hand and banged on the door, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him he was crazy.

He didn’t care. He was exhausted and short-tempered from barely sleeping for the fourth night in a row.

It was all his fault.

The door opened and Uzair found himself on the receiving end of a cold stare. Jaskirat leaned a wide shoulder against the frame of the doorway, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He was wearing only a pair of black trousers, his dark hair tousled. Uzair shifted from one foot to the other,

, looking anywhere but at Jaskirat’s bare chest and the tattoos on his muscular arms.

“Is there a reason you’re banging on my door at six in the morning?” Jaskirat said.

Uzair crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry,” Jaskirat repeated, somehow managing to convey how utterly unimportant the fact was to him without changing his expression.

“Yes,” Uzair said. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.” He couldn’t resist a glance over Jaskirat’s shoulder at the large bed dominating the room. It was empty, the sheets crumpled. “So your whore is gone,” he said before he could stop himself.

He immediately regretted it as Jaskirat’s gaze sharpened, something like amusement appearing on his face. “Were you listening at the door, kitten?”

Uzair glared at him. “I couldn’t sleep all night because of her moans. For the fourth night in a row. And did you have to fuck her at three in the morning in our—in the bathroom we share?” Unable to look Jaskirat in the eye any longer, he shifted his gaze to Jaskirat’s left ear. “I’m hungry, and I need something else to wear. The shirt you gave me feels gross already.”

“It’s endearing how you think you can disturb my sleep without a good enough reason,” Jaskirat said, a hint of steel appearing in his voice.

Uzair froze, eyes flickering to Jaskirat’s. He swallowed.

Jaskirat reached out, took the collar of Uzair’s shirt, and tugged him closer. Uzair’s heart thudded in his throat, his mouth dry.

“Or did you just want my attention, love?”

 Flushing, Uzair shook his head. Of course he didn’t want Jaskirat’s attention. He’d had plenty of it in the last three days. Every day, Jaskirat would come to his room, talk to him about seemingly unrelated things, and just watch him. It was kind of maddening, although Uzair couldn’t really complain that he was being mistreated. He had a soft bed, he was fed well enough, and the guards’ beatings were a distant memory now. Jaskirat didn’t even touch him anymore. Frankly, Uzair had little to complain about. As far as kidnappings went, this hadn’t been that unpleasant of an experience—if only he hadn’t been forced to listen to women orgasm every night.

Jaskirat chuckled, his hand moving from Uzair’s shirt to his throat. His thumb pressed against Uzair’s madly beating pulse. “Little liar,” he said. “Did you come here because you were jealous of the nice woman who entertained me last night?”

 Uzair spluttered. “Jealous? I don’t like you. You’re a horrible, evil person.”

“With cruel eyes,” Jaskirat added, amusement lacing his words. “Don’t forget the cruel eyes.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Uzair said, pouting. It took him a moment to register that he was actually pouting. He blinked. What the hell. He’d always been very self-conscious about his facial expressions and rarely allowed himself to appear anything but masculine. When, exactly, had he let his guard down around Jaskirat?

Feeling a little weirded out by his own behaviour, Uzair cleared his throat. “Fine, sorry for bothering you. Let go.”

Jaskirat’s hand remained wrapped around his neck. He gave Uzair a long, assessing look. Uzair held his gaze, trying to ignore the proximity of his bare chest.

Looking him in the eye, Jaskirat said quietly,

“Get on your knees.”

Uzair sucked in a sharp breath.

“No,” he managed. “

Get on your knees,” Jaskirat repeated. “We both know this is what you came here for.”

Wetting his lips, Uzair glanced down at the bulge straining the fabric of Jaskirat’s black boxers. “No,” he whispered, less sure than before.

“You should stop lying to yourself,” Jaskirat said. He buried his hand in Uzair’s hair and pushed him down, the pressure assertive and forceful, but not too forceful—just perfect—and a wave of arousal rolled through Uzair.

Trembling, he waited on his knees, holding his breath. He could have moved away. He could move away.

He didn’t.

He watched Jaskirat pull himself out.

He didn’t resist when Jaskirat pried his mouth open with his fingers.

He didn’t resist when Jaskirat slowly fed him his thick cock.

Uzair closed his eyes and moaned a little, relishing the way the hard, thick cock stretched his lips. Jaskirat wasn’t slow or gentle. Immediately, his cock started thrusting in and out of Uzair’s mouth, bruising his throat and choking him, making Uzair whimper around it.

It went on, and on, Jaskirat’s low, guttural grunts the only sound in his ears. There was a part of Uzair that was ashamed by how much he got off on this: on being used like a hole for a cock, with no pretence of affection. For fuck’s sake, he was sucking the cock of a man who saw nothing wrong with kidnapping people—who’d probably done things a lot worse than that. He was sick. Clearly, he was sick to enjoy this, but he was loving this, loving this so much.

All too soon, Jaskirat pulled on his hair roughly. Uzair whined when the cock was pulled out of his mouth. No—

“Open your eyes.”

He looked up and saw Jaskirat already staring back at him. Jaskirat tugged on his red, glistening cock, his eyes blazing with heat. “I’m going to come on your face. Open that pretty mouth for me, Curly.”

Panting, Uzair did as he was told, eyes fixed hungrily on the drops of pre-come at the tip of Jaskirat’s cock.

“Blya—” Jaskirat grated out, stroking himself fast, and then he was coming all over Uzair: his cheeks, his nose, his parted lips, down his neck and onto the shirt he was wearing.

“Fuck, look at you, angel,” Jaskirat said, running his hand through Uzair’s hair and pressing his face against Jaskirat’s thigh. “You may jerk off now.”

Slipping his hand under his shirt, Uzair grabbed his own dripping cock and groaned in relief. He was so hard it hurt. He wanked himself, panting against Jaskirat’s muscular thigh. He needed—

“Come on, love.” Jaskirat tugged on his hair, hard, and Uzair was falling off the edge, teeth sinking into Jaskirat’s skin and his mind floating far, far away.

Leaning his forehead against Jaskirat’s thigh, he just breathed as those strong fingers continued stroking his curls, prolonging the pleasure coursing through his body. Uzair was trying to make sense of what he was feeling, but all he could come up with was warm and good.

A distant part of him wondered what he was doing, what the fuck this was. This wasn’t a normal behaviour for him during sex. This giddy pliantness was anything but normal. He would like to claim he was doing this to lull Jaskirat into a false sense of security, but it would be kind of laughable. Now that he knew Jaskirat a little better, Uzair was sure a bit of cocksucking wouldn’t make a difference. This man wasn’t someone you could manipulate through sex. Jaskirat fucked a different woman every night. If there was anyone being lulled into a false sense of security, it was Uzair. He felt safe with Jaskirat—at least safe enough to trust Jaskirat with his body. How crazy was that?

“Stand up,” Jaskirat said.

Uzair got to his feet unsteadily, his knees still weak, his body boneless.

Green eyes studied him from his dishevelled head to bare toes before Jaskirat said, “Go take a shower. You’re filthy.”

Uzair padded back to the bathroom. He really was filthy, his face covered in Jaskirat’s spunk. Besides, he didn’t have any energy to argue. He didn’t want to argue. Jaskirat’s authoritative tone didn’t annoy him at all.

What’s going on? he thought dazedly as he stood under the shower head, letting the water cascade down him.

By the time he turned the shower off, feeling clean and refreshed, his mind was clear of Jaskirat-induced fog once again. Thank God. Lately his own mind freaked him out.

Shaking his head, Uzair drew the shower screen aside and stopped.

Jaskirat turned his head from the mirror. The hand that was combing his hair went still as his eyes zeroed in on Uzair’s naked, wet body.

Uzair took a few steps forward and stopped, reining in the insane urge to press his body against Jaskirat’s.

What the fuck, seriously.

A beat passed before Jaskirat turned his gaze to the mirror again and returned to the task at hand. He was already partly dressed. It seemed he was leaving.

“You’re dripping water on the floor,” Jaskirat said, wiping his face with a towel.

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

Jaskirat went back into his bedroom.

“Come here,” he called out when Uzair didn’t move. Feeling a little self-conscious about his nudity, Uzair did as he was told. Jaskirat walked toward him, a pretty, patterned shirt in his hands.

Uzair’s eyebrows furrowed. The shirt was stylish and looked expensive, but he couldn’t imagine it belonging to Jaskirat. “It doesn’t look at all like something you would wear.”

“Because it isn’t,” Jaskirat said. “It was a gift from—” He cut himself off and handed the shirt to Uzair. “Put it on.”

Uzair did. When he was done buttoning it up, he turned to the mirror.

He stared.

He barely recognized the young man looking back at him. It’d been years since he let himself wear something so pretty and colourful. He looked…different, especially with his damp curls free from gel.

Stroking the soft, silky fabric, Uzair found himself smiling a little at his reflection. His smile froze on his lips when he noticed that Jaskirat was watching him.

Uzair dropped his hand and coughed. “I look…camp.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Jaskirat said.

Uzair shrugged, unsure. Their conversation from the other day was still fresh on his mind. He still didn’t know how he felt about it. Rationally, he knew Jaskirat had been right: there was nothing wrong with looking camp. It didn’t make him—or anyone else—a freak. But knowing something rationally and believing it in your heart were two different things.

Except that conversation had changed something.

You don’t have to be manly with me. You don’t have to be anything. You can let go. I’m the last man who can judge anyone.

He wasn’t sure he believed Jaskirat, but…it didn’t feel wrong to wear something like this in Jaskirat’s presence. He didn’t feel self-conscious.

Uzair couldn’t stop glancing back at the mirror, fascinated by how different he looked and felt. He didn’t look boring. He looked…pretty. He felt pretty and interesting.

“You look nice.”

Heat surging to his cheeks, Uzair looked at Jaskirat, wide-eyed. There was no mocking edge to Jaskirat’s voice, his tone matter-of-fact. He’d been complimented on his looks plenty of times, but this felt different. Jaskirat didn’t seem the type to give compliments freely.

“Thanks,” Uzair said awkwardly, feeling much too flustered for his liking. He told himself not to be silly. It was just a compliment, and not a fancy one.

But it wasn’t just a compliment. He liked it because he did feel lovely in this shirt, and he loved the feeling. Could Jaskirat see that? Was that why he’d said it?

Uzair shot Jaskirat a suspicious look, but the other man’s face betrayed very little as he slipped into a grey shirt and started buttoning it up.

Uzair looked at the packed suitcase by the bed and chewed his lip. Are you leaving?

He didn’t ask.

“Are you going to give me some trousers anytime soon?” he asked instead.

“No,” Jaskirat said, glancing at his legs. “You’re thin. You’d get lost in the fabric if I gave you mine.”

Uzair frowned. He wasn’t thin. Though, to Jaskirat, who was built like a tank, he probably did look tiny. “You could give me someone else’s.”

“No.”

“What about some underwear?”

“No.”

Uzair let out a long-suffering sigh. “Are you going to tell me when I’m going home?”

“No.”

Pursing his lips, Uzair plopped down on Jaskirat’s bed and looked at the suitcase again.

Jaskirat glanced at him and snorted. “Stop making that face and go back to your room.”

“I’m beginning to feel like your pet.” Uzair was really starting to wonder what he was to Jaskirat. Why was Jaskirat doing this? Despite his generally stern attitude, he seemed noticeably softer around Uzair lately, and, as a result, Uzair found himself dropping his guard. A week ago, he wouldn’t have dared speak to Jaskirat in such a sullen tone. A week ago, he had been scared shitless of the guy. Now he was getting too comfortable with him and, the strangest thing was, Jaskirat was letting him. Jaskirat had been almost nice to him. Why? Why, why, why?

God, he’d never been so confused in his life. This man was a walking contradiction. Jaskirat seemed vaguely homophobic, but at the same time he was very open-minded and understanding when it came to sex. He was domineering as hell, but, unlike most overbearing men, he was a good listener and easy to talk to. Jaskirat wasn’t gay but was attracted to him. Uzair had no idea what to make of it all. It didn’t seem like Jaskirat was pretending—some things were impossible to fake—but he was sure Jaskirat was playing some game. He must be.

Jaskirat grabbed his suitcase. “Whatever gave you that idea? A pet wouldn’t ask so many questions and pout when I don’t answer them.”

“I never pout,” Uzair said, pouting exaggeratedly, though he was unsure why. “It’s my lips. I’m going to get plastic surgery to fix them.”

Jaskirat’s dark brows drew together. He eyed Uzair’s lips.

Uzair moistened them with the tip of his tongue.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Jaskirat said shortly and started turning away.

“Are you leaving?” Uzair blurted out.

Jaskirat paused and gave him a long, probing look.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Work. There’s only so much I can do from Russia. I won’t be back until next Thursday.”

“You’ll be gone for a week?” Uzair frowned. “But—but who will feed me?” He didn’t know why, but Jaskirat didn’t allow any of his men to enter Uzair’s room while Jaskirat wasn’t there.

“Vlad will,” Jaskirat said, something cold flashing in his eyes. “He will behave.” He gave Uzair a considering look. Then, he walked over and, sinking his fingers into Uzair’s hair, held his gaze with an odd sort of intensity. “He will only bring you food. He’s not allowed to stay in the room longer than necessary. Understood?”

 Confused, Uzair nodded nevertheless. “Why are you telling me that? It’s not like I can kick him out.”

“I’ve had a talk with him,” Jaskirat said, something faintly displeased about his expression. “But you can always remind him of my orders if he forgets about them.”

His eyes dropped to Uzair’s mouth again. The grip on his curls tightened.

Uzair’s heart started pounding. His face tilted up, his lips parting. Fuck, he wanted to be kissed so, so badly. He wanted to feel that jaw against his chin. He wanted Jaskirat’s tongue in his mouth.

Jaskirat let go and stepped away.

Deflating, Uzair watched numbly as Jaskirat strode out of the room.

The door locked after him with an audible click.

Uzair plopped back on Jaskirat’s bed and groaned in frustration, touching his tingling lips.

“You’re such an idiot, Uzair,” he said aloud before laughing.

It was either that or crying.

---------------------

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

Uzair rubbed at his eyes and stretched in the soft bed, feeling deliciously well-rested and comfy. His muscles ached a little, but he felt more comfortable than he had in ages. He still wasn’t sure why he had been moved from his old room to this suspiciously nice one, but he hoped it wasn’t just a fluke.

Then, he recalled something. Had Jaskirat really told him these were his personal rooms?

Uzair flushed, remembering the circumstances of it. Fuck. Had he really let that man manhandle him, treat him like a thing? His thing?

Uzair’s stomach did a little flip-flop. Suddenly, he had a nearly irresistible urge to run. Run somewhere far away from that strange man with cruel eyes and gentle, proprietary hands.

Though…he couldn’t deny that it all had gone rather smoothly. Better than Uzair could have hoped. Yes, he had been punished, and it had sucked, and his little clingy breakdown afterward was cringe-worthy, but Jaskirat had been almost nice to him. The guy had taken care of him when he didn’t have to. He could have left Uzair lying there, exhausted and helpless, until he fell asleep on the hard floor. He had even changed Uzair’s clothes and put him in bed. Granted, Jaskirat had been hardly gentle as he did so, but still. Uzair decided to count that as a small victory. He always liked to be optimistic.

Yawning, Uzair stretched and sat up. His muscles felt a little sore but nowhere near as bad as he had feared. His eyes fell on the nightstand and widened. There was a big tray with food there. With all sorts of food. There were even fruits and vegetables.

Uzair grinned, his stomach growling.

Nope, shower first, Stomach.

His mood much improved, he padded into the bathroom, glanced at the mirror and went still, noticing what he was wearing. A long-sleeved, white shirt. It clearly belonged to someone wider in the shoulders than him: it came down almost to his knees. Was it Jaskirat’s?

A shiver ran up his spine at the thought. Normally he wouldn’t have cared—he would’ve just been happy to get out of his dirty clothes—but after last night’s surreal experience, wearing the man’s clothes made him distinctly unsettled. Not to mention that he was naked under the shirt.

There was another door leading from the bathroom. Uzair stepped to it and listened. Nothing.

He pushed the door, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. Even if he really was in Jaskirat’s own rooms, as Jaskirat had implied, he would hardly be left alone, free to wander around as he pleased.

Sighing, Uzair started undressing. He needed a shower. He needed to relax and stop thinking about last night.

But as he stood under the stream of warm water, Uzair’s thoughts kept returning to it. Something about it bothered him a great deal.

It wasn’t like Uzair was clueless about disciplinary punishments and everything they entailed: contrary to his appearance, he wasn’t an innocent, inexperienced boy. Far from it. He was actually pretty familiar with that kind of lifestyle thanks to his second boyfriend, Alan, who was into BDSM and had convinced him to try it. In the end, after they experimented a little, Uzair had told Alan that, while he respected his lifestyle, he didn’t like being whipped, chained, and flogged. Alan hadn’t exactly been happy to hear that, and Uzair still winced every time he thought of their ugly breakup. But the thing was…He and Alan had done it by the book—they had used safewords and everything, they had trusted each other enough—but it just didn’t work. It didn’t do anything for Uzair. While he had liked some of the stuff they had done—like being held down and fucked roughly—mostly he had found “punishments” annoying and silly rather than arousing, and he had never really felt impressed by them or particularly submissive. So the whole thing with Alan had convinced Uzair that stuff like that did nothing for him.

Until this morning.

He wasn’t sure how appropriate it was to compare last night’s experience to his experiments with Alan. He and Jaskirat certainly hadn’t been playing. There had been no safewords involved. It had been a real punishment—punishment that had reduced him to genuine tears—and the experience hadn’t been sexual at all. Yet it shook him to the core.

Uzair knew BDSM didn’t always involve sex or even whips and chains; sometimes it was a little more complicated than that. The truth was, last night’s punishment and what happened afterward had felt far more intense and intimate than the kinky sadomasochistic sex he’d engaged in with Alan. Uzair’s memory of last night was pretty disjointed for obvious reasons, but the feeling of utter vulnerability, of being powerless, was clear and sharp even now.

And it made him uncomfortable as fuck—because for a few minutes, it had felt good. It had felt good to cry in Jaskirat’s arms and seek comfort from him, which was just…just fucked up. He didn’t trust the guy at all. How could it feel good? Was he touched in the head?

Frowning, Uzair turned the shower off. Uneasy to remain naked longer than necessary, he briskly towelled his body dry and slipped back into Jaskirat’s shirt, for the lack of any other options. His clothes were nowhere to be seen.

He stared in the mirror again, doubts clouding his mind. Whatever happened last night—or rather, this morning—couldn’t be allowed to happen again. He was ready to play the role of a vulnerable good boy to lull his captor into a false sense of security, but play was the key word.

Only an utter fool would make himself truly powerless and vulnerable with a man like Jaskirat Singh Rangi.

----------

Uzair wasn’t sure what had woken him up. He became aware that he was lying on his side, the sheets tangled at his feet. Something told him not to open his eyes, so he didn’t. He listened, straining his ears, unsure and anxious, goosebumps running down his arms.

It was still night: he could hear an owl hooting in the distance, an eerie sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. But there was something else. Someone else.

There. The barely audible sound of breathing.

Keeping his own breathing calm and even, Uzair opened an eye slightly. He had left the bedside lamp on when he’d gone to sleep, so he had no trouble seeing his surroundings. Except whoever was in the room with him—and he knew who it was—stood on the other side of the bed and Uzair’s back was turned to him.

Then, he became aware of something else. His shirt had ridden up, leaving his ass and legs completely exposed to Jaskirat’s eyes. Uzair’s first urge was to yank the shirt down, but if he did that, it would betray he wasn’t asleep. Uzair didn’t feel like he was ready to face this man after their last disconcerting encounter.

His exposed skin prickled, the tension in his body growing. Why wasn’t Jaskirat doing anything? Why wasn’t he leaving? Why had he come at all in the middle of the night? Uzair had fretted and waited all evening, expecting Jaskirat or someone else to come, but no one had. Thankfully, he’d been left with enough food so hunger wasn’t a concern. In the end, for lack of anything better to do, he had gone to sleep, figuring a businessman of Jaskirat Singh Rangi’s calibre would have more important things to do than visit a clueless rich kid who was useful only as a bargaining chip.

Except Jaskirat was here now. Uzair was sure he wasn’t imagining the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of cigarettes. His muscles quivered with adrenaline, his heart beating so fast he felt dizzy for a moment. Why wasn’t Jaskirat moving? What was he looking at? What was he thinking about? And why the hell did Uzair care?

“You’re as terrible at pretending to be asleep as you are at manipulating.”

Uzair stiffened.

---------------

The figure on the bed seemed to stop breathing, going rigid at the sound of his voice.

Jaskirat’s brows furrowed. The boy was scared of him. While it was neither unexpected nor entirely unwelcome, it would only complicate things. He couldn’t have Uzair fearing him too much. This time he needed…a gentler approach if he was to accomplish what he had decided to do after seeing Uzair’s reaction to the punishment. The way the boy had clung to him, seeking comfort and trusting him enough to fall into exhausted sleep in Jaskirat’s presence…it had opened new possibilities.

There were certainly far easier, faster, and less convoluted ways to make Faiz Baloch pay, but this one would crush Baloch if implemented right. If Jaskirat could condition Baloch’s only son, make the boy completely dependent on him, then he would have the keys to what Baloch treasured the most: Baloch Industries, his pride and joy. Jaskirat wasn’t too concerned that Baloch didn’t trust his son. If the boy had no clue about business, all the better.

Hold your fucking horses, Jaskirat told himself. As the proverb went, he mustn’t put the cart before the horse. He had to gain Uzair’s affections first for the plan to work. That wasn’t going to be easy, even taking into account Uzair’s submissive inclinations.

The truth was, Jaskirat had misgivings about the plan. He didn’t like what he couldn’t control.

And he couldn’t quite control his own reactions that morning. When he had found himself with an armful of shaking, needy boy, it hadn’t been a conscious decision to comfort him. It was all instinct. Uzair’s submissiveness had messed with his head, making him react instinctively— as any good Dom would react to a sub’s physical and emotional needs after a scene. The problem was, the punishment he had given Uzair was never meant to be anything but punishment. The boy’s needy body language afterward shouldn’t have triggered his instincts.

But it did.

Jaskirat was no stranger to power play. He derived a certain pleasure from power games in everyday life; sometimes, if the mood was right, his body itched for it, too. Most people considered him a cruel man, and they weren’t wrong. But he wasn’t a cruel lover, never had been. Granted, he wasn’t a gentle lover, either. He liked it rough, liked the rush of power he got when he reduced someone into a pliant, submissive mess—it was far more arousing than rape and the unnecessary cruelty some   people in his business circle indulged in—but he took good care of his sex partners. Sexual gratification wasn’t always the point when he was in the mood to play, but normally an attractive woman’s genuine submission made him want to fuck her. Jaskirat had never thought a male could affect him the same way, yet this young man with his obscenely pretty lips and natural submissiveness did, and Jaskirat had found himself wanting to do wicked things to him for hours before tucking him in.

He hadn’t, of course. He still had some self-control left.

But now it was being tested again.

Uzair was still barely breathing. Jaskirat’s eyes moved away from the mop of curls to the boy’s tense neck, down his back clad in Jaskirat’s own shirt, to the perky, perfect little ass and shapely, toned legs.

Gritting his teeth, Jaskirat tore his gaze away and rounded the bed.

The boy’s eyes were wide open, his cherry pink lips parted slightly. Uzair licked them. “Why are you here?” he said, finally tugging the hem of Jaskirat’s shirt down.

Jaskirat’s eyes tracked the movement. He sat down on the bed, inches away from Uzair’s head.

The boy visibly stiffened, watching him warily. In the yellow light of the lamp his hair looked like an angel’s halo.

“This is my house,” Jaskirat said. “Everything in this house is mine. You’re not a guest here. I can come and go as I please. I don’t have to explain myself to you. I can do whatever I want.” I can do whatever I want to you.

They stared at each other in silence, tension stretching out like a taut wire between them.

An owl hooted outside the window.

Uzair swallowed. “I know what you want,” he whispered. “I’m not stupid.”

Jaskirat threaded his fingers through the raven locks. So soft and pretty. “And what do I want?” he said.

Seconds passed, loaded with tension.

At last, Uzair said, looking him in the eye, his cheeks tinged with pink, “You want to fuck my mouth. You keep looking at it.”

It was a struggle to keep his face impassive.

“I’m not a faggot,” Jaskirat said, without any inflection. He wasn’t a raging homophobe, at least compared to his men, but he certainly wasn’t a sympathizer. He’d never understood why some men would prefer flat chests, plain asses, and unattractive legs to women’s soft, shapely bodies.

Uzair smiled crookedly, flashing a hint of a dimple. “My ex wasn’t a faggot, either. Didn’t stop him from putting his cock in my mouth. What guy doesn’t like getting his cock wet? A faggot’s mouth is just as good as any woman’s.”

So the boy was gay, as he had suspected. And Jaskirat could see that despite his light tone, Uzair’s casual smile was put on, forced. It was clearly a sensitive subject to him, and yet…there was something else there.

Jaskirat studied him for several moments. The boy was blushing a little, his pupils dilated and his breathing unsteady. He kept licking his lips. Interesting.

“You almost sound like you’re trying to convince me to do it,” Jaskirat said.

A nervous laugh left Uzair’s lips. “You scare me shitless. Why would I want to have my throat stuffed with your cock?”

Jaskirat’s blood rushed downward. “You have a very vivid imagination.”

Uzair’s eyes went wide and his pretty pink blush darkened to crimson.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Unhurriedly, Jaskirat unzipped his trousers with his free hand and pulled himself out.

Uzair dropped his gaze and stared at Jaskirat’s half-hard cock inches away from his face. “What?” he whispered hoarsely.

Carding his fingers through the boy’s curls, Jaskirat said, “Isn’t this what you want?”

Uzair shook his head, his eyes fixated on Jaskirat’s hardening cock.

“I think it is,” Jaskirat said, nudging the head of his cock against the boy’s madly beating pulse before dragging it up Uzair’s neck to his cherry lips. So fucking pretty. Uzair was breathing unsteadily, his eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Jaskirat watched him avidly, keeping his face cool and collected, as if his erection wasn’t brushing Uzair’s lips, as if he didn’t want to shove his cock down the boy’s throat and fuck it raw.

“Suck,” Jaskirat said quietly.

Uzair swallowed and shook his head again, but it didn’t look very convincing, considering the fact that he had an erection, too. One glance was enough to confirm it.

“I’m not going to force you,” Jaskirat said. “Ask me nicely and I’ll give you a cock to suck.”

“No,” Uzair said, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked pained and tense as Jaskirat nudged his cock against his lips. Uzair whined when Jaskirat slapped his mouth with his cock.

“No,” the boy said again, even as he mouthed Jaskirat’s cock greedily. “Please, don’t do this.”

Ah. A heady wave of arousal washed over Jaskirat. If this was what Uzair was into, fine.

“Red, yellow, green,” Jaskirat said, gripping the curls tighter in his hand.

Uzair blinked up at him in confusion. Shit, he seemed completely out of it already. Finally, understanding dawned in those dark eyes.

“Green,” Uzair murmured, surprise flashing across his expressive face —no doubt he was surprised that the asshole who had kidnapped him was decent enough to give him safewords. The boy couldn’t know that Jaskirat was playing a long game. He would be nice enough to Uzair. He would be so good to him that soon the boy wouldn’t be able to breathe without him.

“Suck it, blyad(damn it)” Jaskirat said, letting his voice become harsher.

“No,” Uzair said, shaking his head, his eyes dark and hungry.

Jaskirat slapped him across his cheek. Uzair whimpered and looked up at him, panting. Jaskirat yanked the boy’s face onto his hard cock and hissed as Uzair’s wet mouth engulfed him, plump lips cradling his aching erection. Fucking hell.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think twice about what he was doing, his hips were snapping forward, his cock thrusting in and out of the boy’s mouth with obscene, wet sounds. Uzair was whimpering quietly around the length fucking his throat, his eyes squeezed shut, tears glistening at the corners of them.

Jaskirat couldn’t look away. Watching his thick cock fucking such an angelic, innocent face seemed beyond filthy and wrong. Despite the tears in his eyes as Jaskirat’s cock choked him, the boy was hard, his slim fingers working furiously on his own erection. An angel and a whore.

“Such a cockslut,” Jaskirat said softly, hands cradling and stroking the boy’s cherubic face as his hips snapped forward and back. “How many cocks did you suck, you little whore?”

Uzair moaned around his cock. Apparently he liked being forced, used, and called derogatory names. Appearances could certainly be deceiving, though Jaskirat wasn’t one to judge. People got off on the weirdest shit, him included, and it meant nothing.

This meant nothing.

So he let go, taking his pleasure in Baloch’s son’s mouth and telling him what a slut he was, telling him that he was born to have a cock in his every hole, all the while cradling and stroking Uzair’s face as if he were made from something precious. The boy reacted beautifully, sucking his cock like a goddamn pro and leaning into his hands, seeking his touch. He didn’t resist when Jaskirat rolled him onto his back and, straddling his chest, fed his cock back into Uzair’s waiting mouth. After that it was a blur of fucking, the boy’s hoarse moans and his own grunts as he thrust into the wet perfect heat of that mouth.

At last, he came, swearing through his gritted teeth, and watched the boy swallow his come with eagerness that shouldn’t have been so damn arousing.

“Mmm,” Uzair said, panting, when Jaskirat pulled out. He looked fucking wrecked, his lips even redder and fuller than usual, his dark eyes glazed over. Jaskirat let his softening cock drag across the boy’s flushed cheek before flopping onto his back next to him.

The room was silent but for the sound of their ragged breaths.

Jaskirat tucked his cock in, zipped up, and looked back at the boy.

He still lay sprawled on the mattress, the expression on his face dazed, smooth legs splayed out, his hand wrapped loosely around his spent cock.

Jaskirat resisted the urge to get out of the bed and leave without a word, to get away from this room and everything that had happened in it. He wouldn’t, of course. Doing so would be a demonstration of weakness, would betray how much the sex had rattled him. He wasn’t rattled. Just annoyed with himself. He wasn’t supposed to have sex with Uzair Baloch, at least not at this point. Using him as a hole for his dick was unlikely to make the boy trust him, considering what Uzair had implied about his ex.

He had needlessly complicated everything, adding something unpredictable, something that could either hinder or help his plans. It could go either way.

Uzair turned toward him, his eyes still glossy and soft. “You gave me a safeword.”

“It might come as a surprise to you,” Jaskirat said, his voice very dry, “but I don’t actually enjoy forcing people.” He let the corner of his mouth curl up. “Unless they’re into it.”

A faint blush appeared on Uzair’s cheeks. He pursed his lips. He looked like a disgruntled kitten. “I’m not into it,” he said haltingly. “You forced me.”

Jaskirat raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how I remember it.”

“I’m not sick,” Uzair said, looking even more disgruntled. “Only sick, twisted people are into that kind of thing.”

Jaskirat pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of his shirt pocket. “Is that what nice people teach their kids these days?” he said, lighting the cigarette. “What a load of bullshit.” He inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “Newsflash, kotyonok (kitten): what gets you off says nothing about your character. I know a man who gets off on being pissed on by women. He’s one of the most assertive, confident men I’ve ever met.”

There was an uncertain, confused look on Uzair’s face now. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, but in the end, he settled on, “Don’t call me kotyonok (kitten). I know what that means.”

Jaskirat snorted. “I called you a cockslut and blyad, and you didn’t mind, but now you’re bothered that I called you a kitten.” Kitten was apt. The boy did look like a disgruntled kitten.

Uzair pursed his ridiculous lips. “I hate it when people use endearments they don’t mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, solnyshko (sunshine)” Jaskirat said. He almost laughed at the face the boy pulled.

“Sunshine isn’t any better than kitten,” Uzair grumbled, glaring at him uncertainly.

“You know Russian pretty well,” Jaskirat said, a little surprised by the fact. The boy’s father didn’t know two Russian words.

“I’m pretty good at understanding it, but I’m horrible at speaking it.” Uzair shot him a probing look. “I don’t get it. You’re being almost nice. You’re not a nice person.”

“What makes you think so?” Jaskirat said, deeply amused. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so amused. “Because I had you kidnapped and locked up here?”

Uzair shook his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Because I’m an evil Russian oligarch?”

Another shake of head. Jaskirat propped himself up on an elbow, regarding the boy curiously. “No?”

Uzair bit his lip before saying, “You have cruel eyes.”

“Cruel eyes,” Jaskirat repeated, a sardonic smile curling his lips. “And here I was being so nice and giving you a cock to suck on.”

Uzair flushed. “I didn’t ask for your cock.”

“You all but begged me to use your mouth, kitten. I was being a nice host.”

“Nice. Right.”

“That’s right,” Jaskirat said, brushing his knuckles over Uzair’s silky soft cheek. The boy shivered but didn’t shake the hand off. Jaskirat smiled. “But I’ve changed my mind. I gave you what you wanted. Time to pay up.”

“Pay up?” Uzair said, his expression turning wary. Smart boy.

“Yes.” Jaskirat let his knuckles trail down the boy’s neck, thinking of a suitable demand—one that would advance his plans. Ideally, it would be something that would make the boy get used to him, maybe even get attached to him. It couldn’t be anything sexual. Uzair would come to him asking for his cock. Until then, Jaskirat would keep his cock out of the boy’s mouth, no matter how pretty it was.

His eyes dropped to that pursed lush mouth and lingered.

He wanted to taste it.

The sudden desire was so strong it threw him off. Using the boy’s mouth as a hole for his cock was one thing. Wanting to kiss it was another. Jaskirat couldn’t actually remember the last time he had wanted to kiss anyone. He didn’t really do kissing.

“You know, you make me very nervous when you get that look on your face,” Uzair said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“What look?”

“Like you’re contemplating murder.”

“Not at the moment,” Jaskirat said, stroking the boy’s pulse with his thumb. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Uzair squawked.

“Kiss me.”

“Why?” Uzair said, glancing between Jaskirat’s eyes and lips.

“Because I said so,” Jaskirat said, irritation lacing his words. He couldn’t remember the last time his orders were questioned so much.

“Right,” Uzair said after a moment. “But I don’t want to.”

“You sucked my cock and enjoyed it,” Jaskirat said, leaning down to him. “Open your mouth.”

Uzair glared at him, his breathing uneven and his body still. Jaskirat looked down at his lips and licked his own. The boy’s mouth was positively sinful. Both lips were plump, cherry pink and enticing, the upper lip actually fuller than the bottom one. On any other male face that pouty mouth would have looked ridiculously out of place, but not on this one. Jaskirat’s own mouth practically itched to taste, bite, and suck.

So he did.

He didn’t try to be gentle. He wasn’t a gentle man. He took Uzair’s chin in his hand and kissed him, rough and greedy. The boy tasted like Jaskirat’s come, but instead of disgusting him, it turned Jaskirat on and he kissed him deeper, harder, hungrier, his fingers tightening on Uzair’s jaw. Uzair moaned quietly, starting to squirm against him, his plump lips clinging to Jaskirat’s—

Jaskirat pulled away.

Breathing harshly, they stared at each other, Uzair’s eyes wide and dark, his lips swollen from Jaskirat’s cock and teeth. Fuck. It took all his strength not to nail the boy to the mattress then and there.

“I told you you’d enjoy it,” Jaskirat said, and he was surprised by how normal his voice sounded.

A storm of different emotions flickered through Uzair’s expressive face. “If you can turn me on, it doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I don’t need you to like me, love,” Jaskirat said, getting out of bed and straightening his clothes. He leaned down to brush his lips against the boy’s well-used mouth, relishing the way Uzair tensed and shivered. Jaskirat bit Uzair’s lip lightly. “Liking me isn’t a requirement. You can keep on hating me.” You’ll need me, anyway.

He left, without bothering to see Uzair’s reaction.

Once he was back in his own room, Jaskirat came to a halt and took a deep breath. Pressing a button on the intercom, he said tersely, “Send me a woman. Young. Curly hair. Good height. She must like it rough.”

If Vlad was surprised to receive such a request at three in the morning, he didn’t say anything. “Yes, Singh. You’ll have her in half an hour.”

He did.

And if he thought about the boy in the next room as he slammed into the woman, he was the only witness and judge.

tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece

Sighing, he went to the en-suite and got some Tylenol from the first aid kit. Swallowing the pills, he stiffened at the noise in the adjoining room.

Of course—the boy. He’d almost forgotten about his order to move him there.

Jaskirat unlocked the door, pushed it open, and entered the room.

Uzair Baloch was sitting on the bed, rubbing his stomach. He looked up, his eyes widening when he saw Jaskirat. Otherwise, he didn’t even flinch. Vlad had been right about one thing: the boy wasn’t prone to useless hysterics.

“Thank you,” Uzair said. “For the food. They fed me before bringing me here.” He sank his teeth into his lip, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “Why am I here? Your people didn’t bother to explain.”

 Jaskirat walked over. “What makes you think I will?” The thought was amusing.

The boy cocked his head to the side, looking up at him almost shyly, his thick dark eyelashes framing his deep brown eyes. “Nothing,” he said, chewing on his lip. “But I’d like to know. Please.”

So polite. Too polite.

Jaskirat’s lips thinned. He laid his hand on Uzair’s head and tugged on the Black curls. “Do you take me for a fool?” he said, knowing his grip must be painful. Tears of pain welled in the boy’s eyes.

“I-I don’t understand,” Uzair whispered.

Jaskirat glared at those wobbling lips. “Do you really think a few softspoken words are enough to manipulate me?”

The boy dropped his eyes, guilt and disappointment flashing through his face. “I’m not very good at it, am I?” he said with a wince and a crooked smile.

“No,” Jaskirat said. The boy had been too well-behaved and innocent for that to be real.

Uzair hugged himself, looking up at him warily. “Are you going to punish me for trying to manipulate you?” His voice cracked a little.

Jaskirat stared at him, considering his options. He could always order his men to rough him up, but the idea didn’t sit well with him. He blamed Uzair’s deceptively youthful looks.

Jaskirat would readily admit he wasn’t a good man. He’d done things that had surely reserved him a place in hell…if an afterlife existed. But he’d done those things to adults, not children. Uzair Baloch wasn’t a child, but the air of innocence he had about him coupled with his baby face fucked with Jaskirat’s mind. No, he didn’t want to hand the boy over to his men. But the boy must be punished. If Jaskirat didn’t punish him, Uzair might start getting ideas. Jaskirat had been too soft with him as it was.

He said, “You will kneel in that corner, clasp your hands behind your back and remain that way until seven in the morning. No breaks, no food, no sleep.”

Uzair looked like he wanted to protest, but he closed his mouth and silently went to the corner and knelt on the floor, facing the wall. As far as punishments went, it was far from the worst, but Jaskirat knew how uncomfortable and painful it would be to keep that position.

“It goes without saying that this room is under constant video surveillance,” Jaskirat added, staring at the mop of curly hair. “You will not like your punishment if you choose to defy me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy murmured.

Sir.

Jaskirat left the room, trying to ignore the way that little English word pleased something in him. An honorific like that didn’t exist in Russian—or rather, they were old-fashioned and no longer used.

He had to admit that sometimes the English language might be superior to this country’s mother tongue.

-------------

The first hour was okay. His stomach was full, the room was warm, and he even had something like a plan.

Uzair was relieved and a bit surprised by the punishment Jaskirat had chosen for him. He had expected worse. He had been a little apprehensive when he devised the plan to get caught in the act, but it all went seamlessly. Jaskirat had bought it. Now that the guy was assured of his own superiority and cleverness, assured that he could see right through Uzair, it would be easier to soften him up and lull him into a false sense of security. Uzair felt a pang of shame before reminding himself not to be silly. Jaskirat Singh Rangi was a criminal. Men like him deserved nothing less. Besides, it wasn’t like he was planning to kill the guy or something. He just wanted to save himself. He just wanted to go home. That was all.

The second hour was harder, and the third hour was worse. He was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. His knees were sore from kneeling on the floor for so long and his arms and shoulders were starting to ache.

The fourth hour made it clear why Jaskirat had chosen such a seemingly soft punishment. Uzair’s entire body ached from the stiff position he was forced to maintain, his feet were asleep, and his neck and back hurt pretty badly. Uzair had to remind himself that this was the plan. He had to be “punished” and accept his punishment for the Russian to think he was beaten into submission—so to speak.

But he almost gave up by the end of the fifth hour. His eyelids kept closing, his bladder was full, he was exhausted, his bruised ribs still aching from the beating he had received a few days ago, and he wanted to sleep so much it was a physical effort not to.

The clock on the wall seemed to be mocking him by marking time ever so slowly. Minutes dragged. Time crawled by at such a snail’s pace that he wondered whether the clock had stopped working. Uzair kept himself awake only by imagining creative ways to torture and kill Jaskirat. The asshole was probably sleeping like a baby right now in a soft, comfy bed, not a care in the world. Uzair couldn’t feel his limbs anymore.

By six in the morning, he became vaguely aware that his face was wet from tears running down his cheeks. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to curl into himself and finally pass out.

He realized that he was no longer alone only when a pair of strong hands pulled him up by the shoulders. Uzair’s legs gave out. He couldn’t move, his feet still asleep and his entire body hurting. He cried, hiding his wet face in the man’s wide shoulder.

“Shh,” said a gentle, low voice, long fingers stroking his hair. “You did well.”

 A part of Uzair’s dizzy, sleep-deprived brain screamed at him to stop clinging like a baby to the asshole who’d done this to him, but it felt very distant and unimportant. This felt good—the hands felt good—and he was so, so tired.

Sniffling into Jaskirat’s shoulder, he let the man lift him and carry him.

Any other day, Uzair would have told him to fuck off. But he was exhausted, sleep-deprived, and hurting all over. Maybe he should have felt mortified by his physical and emotional helplessness, but he was past the point of being embarrassed.

“I can’t,” Uzair whispered, close to tears again. He was so, so tired. He wanted…God, he just wanted to close his eyes and be taken care of.

“You can and you will,” Jaskirat said. “I won’t have you stinking my rooms.”

His rooms?

There was something vaguely disturbing about the man’s touch: it was so matter-off act, as if…as if Uzair was just a thing that belonged to him.   Uzair’s exhausted mind noted how business-like and freakishly proprietary Jaskirat’s touch was, as if doing this was completely normal, as if Uzair was a thing belonging to him and that he was doing maintenance on. It should have made him angry, but anger required energy, and he had none. His body was running on fumes, days of starvation making it weak and the lack of sleep making his processing speed much slower.

He dropped Uzair on the mattress and said, “Your clothes stink.”

Uzair blinked up at him blearily. “Of course they stink,” he mumbled. “Your goons didn’t let me wash them. I have nothing else.”

Jaskirat’s lips pressed together. Between one blink and another, he was gone.

Uzair’s eyelids had already closed when he was shaken awake. He protested, turning onto his stomach and hugging his soft, perfect pillow.

“You will sleep after you change,” a familiar, hated voice said. “You stink.”

“Uh huh,” Uzair mumbled into his pillow.

He heard some swearing in Russian, but his mind was half-asleep and couldn’t translate it.

“Blya, eto mne chto li nado, (Damn, is this what I need?)” Jaskirat said, his tone irritated, before he pulled Uzair up into a sitting position and undressed him quickly. Uzair didn’t open his eyes, only vaguely aware of being forced into something long and soft. It smelled good.

He was all but shoved face down on the bed, but then a gentle hand stroked his hair. “Sleep.”

“Uh huh,” Uzair muttered before hugging his pillow and falling into a deep, untroubled sleep.

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