#alexei wright

They’d drifted apart by the time they became teenagers - occupied more with learning roles and history than playtime. There was the occasional meet-up, the first time they’d shared when they turned 16, but Miroslav hadn’t seen Alexei since. He never learned what their role was, but it must’ve been secretive. They’re out of sight more than he is, and he’s an Investigator.

And then, all at once, the Serial Killers and Arsonists and Mafia were out of hiding, and all of the older town was dying off like flies on electric wires. It was another massacre, another mystery … all far too familiar for the history of the town of Salem.

He must’ve been twenty-four, and Miroslav wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, not the people around him or the way gazes changed or when one of the old friends he’d trusted the least reveals himself to be Mayor. And he still doesn’t know what to believe, so he spends each night, and he interrogates, and most of all he waits.

It feels like all he does is get pummeled with questions, and wait.

He comes to with a start. He can’t see anything in front of his eyes; there’s a thick blindfold covering them, so dark he can’t even see light past it. His arms are tied behind him, and he can only guess he’s strapped to a chair, given his spread legs and the sturdiness beneath him. Miroslav isn’t even sure how he got here. He remembers it was evening, and he’d been going to interrogate an old friend who claimed Escort earlier in the day, and then he’d felt a squeeze on his neck and …

There’s a thud nearby. His whole body tenses up. Miroslav can hear relaxed breaths, and the clinging of some old equipment made of metal. There’s a squeak like door hinges, and footsteps. Then, silence.

He feels a brush on the inside of his thighs - starts when he feels a boot stepping up onto the chair, between his legs.

“I’m only going to ask you once. Give me your role - and make it convincing.”

The Jailer. Miroslav swallows the lump building in his throat. The old Jailer had been less than kind, perhaps, but he’d never been … rough. He hadn’t known him well; he’d been one of the first old townies to die. But Miroslav had never heard about his apprentice, and hasn’t found them yet. He pulls in a breath through teeth, and lets it out as calmly as he thinks he can.

“Investigator,” he says. He’s quick to add: “I left my notes at my house, but I’ll give you any information I have, provided it’s useful.”

“Hmm,” they respond. The boot slides off his chair; he lets out a sigh of relief, but a hand is quickly grabbing his chin and forcing up his face. Miroslav fights not to startle. His face is being tilted from side to side, as if they’re looking him over. He’s not sure what to say, so he rambles.

“I’ve found a mafia,” he offers. “Framer, goes by Josiah. I’m waiting for more evidence before I call him out, but a friend of mine, a Lookout, he’s watching him for me. I thought I found a serial killer too, but it was a false lead. I don’t know much more than that, though I’ve found some town-”

“You’re a nervous rambler, aren’t you? It’s almost rather cute.”

He goes silent at that, and at the way they let go of his face. He’s confused - not sure what to make of such a flirtatious remark - and then there’s hands behind his head, working at the knot of his blindfold, though not taking it off quite yet.

“Close your eyes and wait for a moment after I pull it off. You don’t want to hurt your eyes - it’s brighter in here than you’ll think.”

The fabric comes free of his face, and he opens his eyes. It’s a startling shock of light, at first, and he’s blinking hard. It fades away slowly, and he can barely make out the face of the Jailer in front of him - chiseled jaw, green eyes-

“Wh- Alexei?!”

They’re smirking. But it’s them, in all of their glory, and backlit by the candles outside of the cell. Miroslav’s shocked, not just that they’re the Jailer of all people, but by how … attractive they are. They’d been rather awkward when they were younger - Alexei had been covered in scars from an old accident that had taken their parents - but now, they’ve grown into them, including the one on their face that seemed smeared blow their right eye. Their nose is still sharp, and their eyes big. They fit now, unlike before, and it almost makes them look mischievous, along with the mop of curly hair that dangled over their left eye but was neatly combed back on the other side. Their body is exposed too, shirt sleeves rolled up and hakama pants trimmed just past their knees.

Like this, they really do seem like an old friend, but it’s more than that, something that they hadn’t possessed when they’d been younger. It’s the glint in their eyes, and the way they held their body. Miroslav remembers how often they used to bind their chest when they were younger, often to the point of harm … but their chest is free, and they radiate confidence. It’s almost overwhelming.

The rest of his body seems to agree. It takes no time for Miroslav to try and relax … and notice the tent that was building against his jeans.

“Sorry to scare you like that, Miroslav,” Alexei says in a tone far more relaxed than before, “But it’s part of the job. Plus it’s funny to see you get so nervous.”

He pulls in a breath through teeth, annoyed. “Alexei, you could have just told me.”

“Well, I had to know you were town first, right? Not that it took much convincing - I just can’t see you being mafia, y’know?” they turn away and walk back to the cell door, tossing the blindfold onto a table outside and grabbing a pair of safety scissors instead. “How are you doing? Haven’t seen you since that day you called out the Arsonist.”

“I haven’t seen you,” Miroslav says, “Since we were teenagers.”

“I don’t draw attention to myself while I’m in town. Mayor’s orders,” they say as they walk back over and stand back to look at him. “You’ve sure gotten handsome though. What happened to you, man? Puberty made you totally ripped.”

He wonders if they’ll be able to see him blush in such low lighting. Miroslav prays they can’t. “I kept at the weights while I was studying,” he says. He looks them over. “I can see you have, too.”

“You mean these?” Alexei lifts up and flexes - their arms are nearly braided with their build, and Miroslav feels his pants tighten even more around his straining arousal. “The old Jailer lemme at some of his weights. Well, I guess they’re mind now, with him being dead - but still. He built a gym in the basement, y’know? Jailer has to keep in form.”

“I guess … so,” he says. He’s totally distracted by the way they move. Alexei seems to notice; they give him a smirk, and he looks away, fast.

“So, then,” they say as they kneel down in front of him. “I ended up dragging you here for more than just reminiscing and all that. Y’know, duties and all.”

He hears a snip, and one of the ropes around his left ankle goes lax. Miroslav tries to relax. “Then why?”

Another snip. “Well,” they say, “For a few reasons. One, to make sure you were still town. Two, see if some of my other leads matched up. Three …”

A final snip at his ankle, and his left foot’s free. Miroslav waits for them as they snip off the remaining ropes on his legs, but when they finish they simply put the scissors aside, and lean back on their heels to look at him. He still can’t stand; he’s bound by his hands to the chair. He looks at them, and lifts a brow. “Well? ‘Three’?”

“Well …” they smirk - and suddenly, they’re standing, and stepping over and sitting on his lap. Miroslav nearly squeaks as they rest their full weight against him, pushing their hips against his, and fuck, he’s so hard. He barely manages to restrain the gasp in his throat, though Alexei’s pressing fingers and thumbs against his shoulders and making him give out a breathless gasp anyway. He looks at them through hazy eyes, though all he wants to do is push and just-

“Let’s just say I’ve had some … itches to scratch,” they coo, with a wink. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Miroslav licks his lips, and looks over at their smirking, devilishly handsome face once more.