#homphobia

By the end of the week, the last remnants of Uzair’s optimism were extinguished by the hunger gnawing at his insides. He felt fatigued and weak, almost dizzy at times. In all his life he had never known true hunger, not until now. His stomach contracted in painful spasms and all he could think about was food. He needed glucose-rich food. Uzair knew if he didn’t have low blood sugar, it probably would have been nowhere near as bad, but it was a small comfort when hunger kept him awake at night, curling up on the narrow bed, the only piece of furniture in the room.

The worst part was how some of the guards liked to torture him by eating all kinds of delicious-smelling food in front of him, laughing when Uzair stared at it with hungry eyes. Sometimes, if the guards were drunk or bored, or both, they used him as a punching bag, but even that was preferable to the sight and smell of food he couldn’t eat.

Their employer hadn’t made an appearance. From what Uzair had overheard, he wasn’t even in the house. Now Uzair felt silly for expecting a visit from the main bad guy. It wasn’t a cheesy Hollywood movie where the villain always came to gloat and share his evil plans with the victim. In all likelihood, Uzair and his well-being were completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things to the person behind all of this. This kidnapping clearly was nothing personal, and the bad guy didn’t have to explain anything to him. The thought smarted. He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

Uzair was curled up in bed, shivering from cold and holding his stomach, when he heard the sound of the locks turning. He tensed. They had already fed him that morning. Were the guards bored again? His ribs still hurt from the last time they had been bored.

Uzair tried to stand, but it probably wasn’t a good idea considering how fatigued he was, so he settled for sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Even that drained him of what little energy he had left, and he had to breathe deeply to fight the sudden bout of dizziness that washed over him. He wasn’t going to faint, dammit. Not now.

The door opened and closed, but his vision was still swimming and he could only make out the blurry tall figure that had entered the room.

Finally, his vision sharpened, the world came into focus, and Uzair found himself gasping as he met the cold Light Green eyes of Jaskirat Singh Rangi.

Fuck.

In the past week, he had thought of Rangi a few times, wondering if he had anything to do with the kidnapping, but he had dismissed the idea. Jaskirat was a condescending prick, and his eyes totally creeped Uzair out, but it didn’t necessarily mean the guy was a criminal. He had told himself “Filthy-rich Russian tycoons” didn’t equal “Russian mafia.” Well, clearly he’d been wrong in this case.

For a long moment, there was only silence as they looked at each other.

Uzair fidgeted, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He probably looked pathetic. His curls were no longer tamed by gel, his fringe falling over his eyes. Uzair was wearing the same Green dress shirt from a week ago, but now it was crumpled, dirty, and stained with blood. At least he had been allowed a shower yesterday (only because the thug that brought him food had complained to Vlad that he stunk).

All in all, if Jaskirat Singh Rangi had been unimpressed with him a week ago, when Uzair had looked his best, he was unlikely to take him seriously now that he looked like a beaten-up, half-starved kid.

“What do you want with me?” Uzair said calmly—or at least he tried to, but his voice was weak, the words shaping up oddly in his mouth.

Jaskirat’s inscrutable expression didn’t change. He continued looking at him in silence, his gaze sharp. It was a hundred times more unnerving than any words.

Uzair fought the urge to squirm. “Look, whatever issue you have with my father, I know nothing of it. Just let me go, okay?”

The man stepped closer and grabbed his chin in an iron-like grip, so hard it hurt. “What are you playing at?”

Uzair blinked up at him, confused. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly, trying not to wince from pain or show his fear.

Jaskirat’s lips thinned. “Who do you take me for?” he said. “Why did Baloch send me his only son? Unarmed, no bodyguards, no precautions at all? Kidnapping you was laughably easy.”

Uzair couldn’t help but laugh, though his lips were still swollen from the last beating he’d received and it hurt a little. “Sorry? You sound disappointed.”

The man stared down at him, as if Uzair were some strange creature that didn’t make any sense. “You can’t possibly be such a clueless child,” he said in disgust, letting go of him and straightening up.

Uzair studied him curiously, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. If the guy was unable to see past his boyish looks, he could use that. Maybe his youthful appearance would finally be good for something. He could play it up, pretend to be totally harmless and clueless—pretend to be the vulnerable teenager he certainly wasn’t. Uzair was an optimist at heart. He was a firm believer that completely evil people didn’t exist. Even the most heartless, hardened criminals would think twice before mistreating a vulnerable kid. Wouldn’t they?

Well, it was worth a try.

Uzair put on his best puppy-dog eyes and looked up at the other man from under his eyelashes, letting his exhaustion and fatigue show on his face. “I’m starving,” he said softly. “If you don’t want me to get sick, you should feed me better. I have low blood sugar. I feel sick and dizzy if I don’t get to eat properly.”

There was no flicker of remorse on Rangi’s face. “You’re alive,” he said curtly. “That’s the only thing I care about. A weakened captive is less of a hassle.”

Nice.

Refusing to give up, Uzair bit his lip and dropped his gaze. “Okay.”

Silence.

He waited with bated breath, but with every passing second it was becoming increasingly obvious that this man was as cruel and unfeeling as he looked.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Rangi said, laying his large hand on top of Uzair’s head gently.

Uzair went motionless, not daring to look, not daring to breathe. There was something about that gentleness that unsettled him to his core. He knew very little about this man, but one thing he knew for certain: he didn’t have a gentle bone in his body.

“I d-don’t know what you expect me to say,” he managed, fighting the wave of dizziness brought by fear. He stared down at his bare toes. “I know nothing about my father’s dealings with you. He tells me nothing. He didn’t know I went to meet you. I had no idea what I was getting into when I decided to go in his stead.”

The long fingers carded through his curls ever so gently.

Uzair couldn’t breathe.

The fingers tightened before yanking his head up by his hair. Hard Green eyes bored into his. “Do you expect me to believe this?”

“You’re hurting me,” Uzair said, letting tears well up in his eyes. He managed to make his bottom lip tremble. “I’ll tell you everything I know, I swear.”

The painful grip on his curls didn’t lessen one bit, but Rangi’s gaze flicked down to Uzair’s wobbling lip. The look lasted a fraction of a second, but Uzair didn’t miss it.

Oh.

He dropped his gaze again as a new thought occurred to him. Uzair truly hadn’t intended to go this route—a part of him couldn’t even believe he was seriously considering it—but…But. He wasn’t a damsel in distress.

He refused to be a damsel in distress and timidly wait to be rescued. It was his own fault that he had acted recklessly and gotten himself in this predicament. Not to mention that his father was going to skin him alive if he had to pay some outrageous money to ransom him. Yes, Uzair had screwed up, but it was still his chance to prove to his father that he could handle tricky situations by himself. If he could manipulate this powerful man, he would more than prove to his father that he wasn’t useless, that he was smart enough and resourceful enough, that he could be trusted.

But could he do it if a mere look from this man made his knees weak with fear? If a pseudo-gentle touch made his heart pound?

Uzair lifted his gaze to the other man again. His stomach tied in knots when his eyes locked with Jaskirat’s. The Russian wasn’t unattractive. Far from it. He was ruggedly handsome, with his short, dark hair, straight nose, and his sharp jaw. He was very fit, his shoulders wide and powerful under the black turtleneck he was wearing, his arms and chest thick with muscle. If the guy wasn’t tall, he would have looked beefy. As it was, he just looked like a perfect killing machine. There was a quiet, carefully restrained aggression in his body language, something lethal and dangerous. Although Uzair was of perfect height and build, he felt small next to this man. Breakable.

Uzair moistened his lips with his tongue.

The painful grip in his hair tightened, yet Jaskirat’s voice was very soft. “I want answers. Now.”

Uzair took in a deep breath, trying to shake off his nerves. Jaskirat Rangi was just a man. Just a man like him or Sameer. All right, maybe not like him or Sameer, but still. Every man, no matter how hardened and clever, was susceptible to a bit of manipulation and persuasion. He just had to find the right approach.

“I’m telling the truth,” Uzair said quietly, keeping his tone open and naive. “I got the email by mistake. I went to meet you without telling my dad because I wanted to prove to him that I was mature enough to be involved in the family business.”

Jaskirat snorted derisively.

Swallowing the biting remark that came to mind, Uzair said, “You don’t take me seriously. Why do you think my father is any different?”

Bingo. He could see that Rangi was finally inclined to believe him.

The tight grip in his hair loosened, turning into a gentle caress again. Uzair wasn’t sure which was actually worse.

“So you’re here only because you’re a stupid, reckless child,” Jaskirat said, his tone mild.

Inwardly, Uzair imagined punching him in the nose with great relish and in great detail. Outwardly, he caught his lip between his teeth and shrugged. “Could you tell me why you kidnapped me?” he asked, trying to ignore the fingers still buried in his hair.

“No,” Rangi said.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll be the prime suspect in my kidnapping?” Uzair said, cocking his head. “There’s the email. There are people who know I went to meet you.” Well, Sameer had seen a photograph of Jaskirat and could likely give his description to the police.

Rangi didn’t look worried in the least. “We had a very public meeting at a very public place, a meeting arranged through official channels.” His voice remained soft, his unnerving, empty eyes fixed on Uzair’s curly hair as his fingers ran through it gently. “There are numerous witnesses who saw me leave well before you and get on the flight to Sochi, where I spent the week. The president of Russia himself can confirm my alibi.”

Uzair’s eyebrows flew up. Who, exactly, was this man? How could such a relatively young man achieve such power?

Three guesses how, Uzair thought, suppressing a shiver. “So are you demanding a ransom from my father?”

Jaskirat gave no response.

“What did my father do to anger you so much?”

No response.

Uzair gritted his teeth before remembering himself—remembering his plan. He couldn’t show his anger. He couldn’t throw temper tantrums. He had to be good. He had to somehow soften the guy up.

He had to seduce him if necessary.

Uzair felt his cheeks colour a little. The task seemed daunting, even impossible. This man couldn’t have gotten to where he was by being susceptible to manipulation. He was dangerous. If he even suspected what Uzair was up to…

His stomach twisted into knots.

“At least tell your people to bring me food, please? I feel sick.” Uzair looked up at Jaskirat and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I’m so hungry.”

Jaskirat’s gaze followed the movement of his tongue. If Uzair didn’t feel so shitty, he would have laughed. It looked like Neville, his first boyfriend, had told him the truth for once. The asshole had lied to him for months, hiding that he was married, and when the truth had gotten out— when his wife had turned up at Uzair’s flat—Neville actually had the nerve to blame Uzair for steering him off the “right path,” claiming that no red-blooded straight man could look at his lips and resist thinking of sticking his cock between them. At the time, Uzair had felt so stupid, pathetic, and dirty, but maybe, just maybe, Neville had been right. Maybe.

Uzair breathed carefully, painfully aware of Jaskirat’s fingers in his hair, of those cold eyes scrutinizing him. It was impossible to tell what was on the guy’s mind. Although Uzair had caught Jaskirat’s gaze lingering on his mouth, his gaydar remained silent. Everything in him screamed to be careful with this man, that a head-on attempt at seduction and manipulation wouldn’t be well-received. He had to keep in mind that the guy, despite his impeccable English, was living in Russia.

While being gay was still far from easy back home, things were much worse in Russia. Although Uzair didn’t like to generalize and stereotype, he couldn’t help noticing that anti-gay rhetoric seemed to be ingrained in Russian culture. Every other swear word used by his guards was a homophobic slur, whether it was relevant or not. Uzair had never been called a faggot—pidaras—as often as he had been this week, even though he gave the guards no reason to think he was gay. Uzair guessed he must be thankful that their homophobic views prevented them from doing anything that would make them faggots, too, but it wasn’t very comforting. He felt ill at ease surrounded by such hostility and disgust toward what he was. If they found out he really was gay, Uzair had a sneaking suspicion that it would be a green light for the guards to use him as they pleased: they would rationalize that he was just “asking for it”—and of course using a dirty faggot wouldn’t make them gay.

That was why he had to tread carefully with this man. One wrong move would invite a disaster.

“Please,” Uzair said softly. “I’ll be completely cooperative. I’ll do anything you want.” He kept his voice free of innuendo, making sure his expression was earnest. He couldn’t initiate anything—that would be blatantly obvious. His gut told him Jaskirat Singh Rangi belonged to the category of men who got off on power and who liked to see submission, but not necessarily sexual submission. Uzair could fake submission. If he could play his cards right, he mightn’t even need to sleep with the guy. The thought of actually having sex with this man, having Jaskirat’s hands on his body while those disconcerting eyes looked down at him, sent a shiver through Uzair’s body.

Against his will, his gaze was drawn down to the other man’s muscular thighs. He could see the outline of Jaskirat’s cock beneath the fabric. Although it wasn’t hard, it looked massive, long and thick.

Swallowing, Uzair licked his dry lips, a squirmy sensation in his stomach. Fuck, a cock like that would completely wreck him—and a man like Jaskirat Singh Rangi was unlikely to be gentle. He would be rough, commanding, and caring only about his own pleasure. Uzair could practically see it: the Russian’s heavy body on top of him, crushing him as he moved between Uzair’s thighs, using Uzair as a hole for his dick—

Jaskirat released his hair and stepped away. His eyes were narrowed as he studied Uzair’s face like a hawk.

Uzair held his gaze, hoping that he wasn’t blushing and his dirty thoughts weren’t written all over his face. Sometimes he hated his vivid imagination. He wasn’t sure why he had been thinking about that. In all likelihood, Jaskirat wasn’t attracted to him in the least and he had nothing to fear. He had more pressing things to worry about than the guy’s cock—like getting some food into his empty stomach.

“Please,” Uzair said quietly.

Some emotion flickered across Jaskirat’s face. He stared at Uzair some more, his expression inscrutable once again, before turning around and leaving.

Uzair sagged back, disappointment nearly crushing him. He’d failed. Again.

Then, he heard Jaskirat’s cold voice, muffled by the door but clear enough:

“Daite malchishke chto-nibud poyest suschestvennogo. Myortvym mne on ne nuzhen.” (Give the boy some decent food. He won’t be of use to me dead.)

 A slow, little smile curled Uzair’s lips.

It might be a small win, but he felt his optimism returning.

Baby steps.

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

Jaskirat Singh Rangi strode away from the captive’s room, his mood darker than ever.

The maid he met on the way to his office took one look at him, paled, and ducked her head, as if hoping he wouldn’t notice her. Smart little thing. Too bad he was too worked up right now.

He grabbed her arm. She froze, barely breezing.

“Lena, isn’t it?” he said quietly, eyeing her blond hair and slim figure. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but she had plush, soft-looking lips. His eyes lingered on them. His jaw tightened.

“Yes,” she said meekly, glancing up at him for a moment before dropping her gaze. He could see her pulse beating madly at the delicate base of her neck. She was scared of him. Or perhaps she was excited. Probably both.

Silently, he opened the door to his office and went in. He knew she would follow him inside.

He wasn’t wrong. He rarely was.

“Close the door,” he said.

The door clicked shut behind him.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the howling of the wind outside and a tree branch banging on glass. The room was very warm despite the freezing weather.

There was no heating in the grey room, Jaskirat thought, recalling the boy’s shivering body. The lack of heat was a strategic decision: usually the “guests” staying in the grey room were to be weakened by hunger and cold. Certainly not to be pampered and fed properly.

Jaskirat’s jaw clenched.

“You may leave now,” he said. “Or you may undress.”

After a brief pause, there was the sound of clothes rustling.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to hurt the girl. He rather liked her—when he didn’t feel like breaking something. Or someone.

“Over my desk,” he murmured. He wasn’t in the mood for elaborate foreplay. Not today.

She was wet when he pushed into her.

She let out soft moans as he fucked her, fully clothed but for his open fly, his fingers gripping her hips in a punishing grip, his teeth gritted and his eyes staring into the snowstorm raging outside.

He barely felt himself coming. It was just a release, an outlet for his dark mood. It did nothing toward easing it.

“Thanks, love,” he said afterward, pulling a few bills out of his pocket and placing them on the desk by the girl’s panting form.

She smiled dazedly, grabbed the money and her clothes, and hurried out of the room.

Jaskirat tied the condom and threw it into the rubbish bin.

Dropping himself in his chair, he lit a cigarette and closed his eyes.

Blyad. Goddammit.

Even despite the fuck, the boy’s black curls and plush, cherry pink mouth stood before his eyes. That mouth. It was a cross between an angel’s mouth and a whore’s.

He wanted to fucking wreck it.

He’d wanted it from the moment he first saw the boy in the restaurant, all dressed up and trying to play grown-up games without knowing any of the rules.

Jaskirat wasn’t used to denying himself what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. Except he couldn’t fuck the boy’s mouth, couldn’t split those lips on his cock and choke him on it as his body wanted.

For fuck’s sake. He wasn’t a faggot. No matter how pretty that mouth was, his physical attraction to a boy didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like what he couldn’t understand or control. It was also inconvenient as hell. He ought to be thinking about the best use he could get out of Baloch’s only son and heir. Instead, he had spent minutes petting the boy’s soft curls and staring at his mouth. Unacceptable. And it was completely unacceptable that he had relented and ordered the guards to feed the captive better only because the boy batted his eyelashes and asked him prettily.

Jaskirat smirked, disgusted and irritated with himself. He should have starved the kid. He should have starved him until those pretty lips became pale and chapped, until those rosy cheeks hollowed out from malnutrition, until the boy turned ugly and pathetic. How an ordinary, bull-faced man like Faiz Baloch had managed to produce a son who looked like that was a goddamn mystery.

Jaskirat threw his cigarette into the ashtray and pressed a button on the intercom. “Bring me a bottle of vodka, Vlad.”

He could sense Vlad’s surprise even without seeing him. “But you don’t drink,” Vlad said slowly. “You never drink.”

Jaskirat murmured, “You’ve always had a penchant for stating the obvious, Vlad.” His voice hardened. “Get me that bottle now.”

“Give me a minute,” Vlad said, probably realizing Jaskirat was in no mood to tolerate his insolence this time.

Vlad had been his head of security for almost ten years. He was very loyal—he was one of the few people Jaskirat trusted implicitly—but Vlad tended to forget himself, expressing his disagreement with Jaskirat’s actions in situations most people would never dare to.

The door opened and closed.

Vlad walked in and placed a bottle of vodka on the desk, his pale brows drawn together. He opened his mouth but shut it upon meeting Jaskirat’s gaze.

Jaskirat stared at the bottle in front of him. His mouth was dry and the urge to drink was definitely still there, but he squashed it easily enough. He hadn’t touched alcohol in fifteen years and he had no intention to do so ever again. He was still in control of himself and his life. He was still in control.

One boy with cocksucking lips wasn’t going to change that.

“Take it away,” he said, satisfied.

Vlad didn’t comment, just took the bottle back. His Grey eyes observed him in silence.

“What?” Jaskirat said without any inflection.

“What are you going to do with Baloch’s brat?”

Jaskirat lit another cigarette and took a long drag. “Haven’t decided yet. I didn’t exactly plan this.” The boy had practically fallen into his lap.

Vlad cocked his head to the side, his expression curious. “It’s very unlike you to act impulsively.”

Jaskirat shrugged with one shoulder. “I know a good opportunity when I see one.”

Vlad nodded slowly. “So does that mean you’ll use the boy?”

Use the boy.

“Of course I will use the boy,” Jaskirat said, looking at the bottle still grasped in Vlad’s hand. He dragged his eyes away. “Baloch needs to be taught a lesson.”

“And pay what he owes you,” Vlad said. “It’s not even about the money,” Jaskirat said, eyeing the cigarette in his hand. “The Englishman played me.” He thought of Dhruv’s lifeless eyes and crushed the cigarette in his hand. “No one gets away with that.”

“Don’t you think it’s cruel to drag the kid into it?”

“He’s twenty-three years old,” Jaskirat said flatly. He had checked. Twice.

Vlad snorted. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t give him a day over sixteen. He looks so…innocent, I guess.”

Jaskirat shot him a sharp look. “Why the sudden interest?”

Vlad shrugged. Was he avoiding Jaskirat’s gaze? “He’s interesting. In the past week he never cried once, didn’t go into hysterics even when he was brought in. He’s practically a perfect captive.”

Jaskirat continued studying him, watching Vlad grow uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Is that so?” Jaskirat said.

“Yes.”

“He has bruises on his face,” Jaskirat said, watching his head of security. “And from the way he was breathing, his ribs are at least bruised. I gave no such order.”

Vlad swallowed.

Jaskirat didn’t soften his expression, watching Vlad squirm. It wasn’t that he gave a fuck when his men roughed up his “guests” a little. But he didn’t tolerate it when his orders weren’t carried out precisely. He hadn’t given his men permission to touch his newest acquisition.

“You know how the lads get when they’re bored,” Vlad said, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“I know,” Jaskirat said. “But it’s your job to rein them in.”

Vlad nodded, his wide shoulders slumping. “It won’t happen again,” he said, turning to leave.

“Did you participate, too?” Jaskirat said.

Vlad froze.

“I thought so,” Jaskirat said, very softly.

“Look—” Vlad started, his ears red. “It happened only once. I know I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it happen, but it was fucking freezing outside and I had a few sips of vodka to warm me up and—I know it’s no excuse—”

“It really isn’t.”

“I know!” Vlad said, frustration and regret lacing his voice. “It’s just —there’s something about that kid that makes all my men agitated, and I’m not an exception.”

Jaskirat’s eyes narrowed. He had an inkling what had his men so agitated. It wasn’t even the boy’s pretty face or blowjob lips. It was the air of innocence about him. The urge to dirty him up would be nearly irresistible to men who didn’t have a shred of innocence left.

On one hand, it was a relief to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the boy, but on the other…it was clear that leaving Uzair Baloch in the care of his men may not be a good idea if they were so easily influenced by the captive to the point of forgetting their orders. It was dangerous. Jaskirat surrounded himself with only the best men, but he was aware few had his self-control. Some inebriated idiot might be too susceptible to the boy’s pretty lips and doe eyes.

“Are you saying you can’t control your men?” Jaskirat said in a low-pitched voice.

Vlad gulped. “I’m saying I can’t control them around the kid,” he replied with a grimace. “No matter what I threaten them with, when they get bored or drunk, they want to have fun. And the boy looks…” Vlad licked his lip. “No homo, but he looks fucking beautiful all beaten up and bruised.”

Jaskirat’s fingers twitched. “Is that so?” He stared at the fire cracking in the fireplace. That boy was dangerous. If he could get even his normally unflappable head of security so agitated…

“Singh?” Vlad said tentatively.

He looked up. “I’m disappointed in you, Vlad.”

His jaw tightening, Vlad nodded briskly, his beefy body tense and wary.

Jaskirat went silent for a while. He always enjoyed this part. Let him stew for a bit.

“I expect that such…a lapse of judgment will never happen again,” he said at last.

Vlad relaxed, breathing out. “It won’t. I promise.”

“Not good enough,” Jaskirat said. “Baloch’s son will be moved to the room adjoining mine.”

Vlad’s eyes widened. “What—but it’s a security risk—”

“You know what’s a security risk, Vlad?” Jaskirat said cuttingly. “When my head of security gets too fucking distracted at work.”

Vlad flinched. “I promise it won’t—”

“Your promises are not enough. I’m not punishing you only because you have proved in the past that I can trust you with my life. But now you proved I can’t trust you or your men with Baloch’s brat.” Jaskirat pursed his lips. “Get the room secure and have the boy moved into it. From now on, until you prove to me I can trust you with this, I will be the only one who has contact with the boy. Dismissed.”

Vlad nodded and left with a chastised look on his face.

As soon as the door shut after him, Jaskirat leaned back in his chair and breathed out, unclenching his fist.

Goddammit.

This was the last thing he needed.

THANKYOU FOR READING!!!!!