#sanjay dutt

The whiskey glided down Rehman’s throat like a velvet silk. It reeked of wealth and finesse wrapped in a bottle probably costing a quarter of the country’s GDP. 

Jameel Jamali always brought out the best when he wanted to show off which was almost all the goddamned time. 

Rehman hated it. 

His soul ached for the harsh bitter blend of the alcohol one found sold in the near broken down shacks at the darkened street corners of Lyari. 

The spirit irrespective of type and grain would inevitably taste like pure gasoline being poured down your throat. The subtle hint of a coppery tang and the sharp smell of gunpowder was imminent in the flavor. 

It wasn’t like the so-called Sher-e-Baloch couldn't get his hands on the finest stuff off the rack whenever he wanted but Rehman Baloch had grown up on those cheap disgusting bottles. 

It was less nostalgia but more the remembrance of survival and how far he has come since that was housed in the rough near savage taste of the local stuff. The kind that would make these pansies sitting in their high backed gold gilded chairs gag. The kind that would burn their throats and make them hack up a lung. 

That whiskey tasted of the destitute poverty that had once been the gangster lord’s reality. It was reminiscent of cold nights spent huddling for warmth with Uzair and hear his little cousin’s teeth chatter, of the blood in his mouth mixing with the celebratory shots downed at smoke layered dawns and the repulsive flavor of grief and guilt mired in the darkest depths of violent nights. 

The crystal decanter was reflecting the lights off the massive chandelier hanging above head and Rehman let the musky taste of the alcohol settle like a low hum in the pit of his stomach. 

Usually he wouldn’t partake too much. 

Not seated amongst these shape shifting snakes grinning at each other with their perfectly practiced plastic smiles and the cloak of amicability which hid their selfish interests underneath. 

But, today he needed that extra one shot. 

Liquid courage, if you will. 

Uzair would laugh himself into the grave if he somehow managed to hear his invincible brother’s muddled thoughts. 

Rehman Dakait was the literal definition of reckless to the point of being near suicidal. His sheer arrogance and outrageous audacity had propelled him to the unforeseen heights that the Baloch gang has seen in current times. 

Lyari trembled on hearing his name. 

The upper echelons of Karachi catered to his whims like tail wagging dogs. 

Rehman fucking Dakait, the illegitimate bastard of a two bit street thug had terrified the entire power structure of perhaps the most strategic part of the country into near subservience within a decade and with a petrifying amount of ease. 

He could stand in front of a firing squad and not blink. 

He has walked through fire and hailstorms of bullets and animalistic throw downs and every single power present in the town trying to dominate him, like he was taking a stroll in the gardens. 

Yet, at times, in his own mind, that young thirteen year old still cowered somewhere in the depths. 

Especially when he knew he was about to do something completely unadvisable and definitively disastrous. 

But that same thirteen year old’s hunger for power and his resolve to never find himself helpless in any situation was what has driven him to commit heinous atrocities. He has never hesitated before and he won’t now. No matter how much his brain keeps screaming at him. 

The risk was too great. But the reward - too lucrative to miss. And he has always gotten what he has wanted. Always. 

No matter the situation, the pressure, the politics and the power play -

Rehman Dakait has always won. 

By hook or by crook. 

“Come on SP sahab, now you are being unreasonable. Look at the terms! You will have all the power you want and the extra…ahem.. Incentives are not bad at all. Anyone would kill for this kind of offer.”

Jamali’s oily tones did nothing much to change the expression on Chaudhary Aslam’s face. 

The SP of the Lyari Police, transferred by Islamabad in a bid to control the growing violence in the area was a fucking mountain of a man. Both in physical stature and figuratively speaking. Rehman has never met a man more stubborn than this vengeful bitter fool. 

SP Aslam had come roaring into Rehman’s territory and sought war with the Lion himself. 

It had been a massacre. 

The PPP had to intervene before the two could take the entire constituency and thus the party itself, down with them. 

One meeting on neutral grounds. Terms and discussions and division of power. At least for the time being. A truce. One which doesn’t seem to satisfy the SP at all, if the way the discussion had started going downhill since the moment Jamali had opened his mouth is taken into consideration. 

Rehman was getting increasingly frustrated. 

Nothing seems to appease Aslam. Not the deals offered to him. Not money. Not power. Not political backing or protection. 

It seemed his hatred for the Balochi community surpassed his better sense of judgement completely. These kinds of men were unpredictable. They couldn’t be solved and fixed in simple ways. Ways which Rehman knew how to - fear, money and alliance. 

“Do I look like I am interested in your paltry offerings?”, Aslam sneered at the PPP politician and downed his drink in one go, lighting a cigarette immediately after. 

“This is a waste of time—”, the older man drawled and got up, walking away before Jamali could say anything else. He looked helplessly at Rehman instead and the latter rolled his eyes. The other party members sitting were just mouthpieces so they didn’t even bear thought. 

Rehman had observed the SP for some time, after the first encounter and him nearly being shot to death. He hadn’t immediately retaliated. 

His observations and his informers in the force had told him enough about the man that by now, Rehman had managed to find one chink in that supposedly impregnable armour. 

The man had an ego the size of Pakistan itself. 

And that, Rehman could easily play with. 

“This man is going to be a problem—”, Jamali said, almost quoting Rehman’s own thoughts back to him, “Rehman isse bachke rehna padeka humein thoda. Sun tu josh me aake kuch ulta seedha mat kar beithna.. Mahaul thoda thanda hone de—”

Rehman spoke before Jamali could finish, “Rehman Dakait doesn’t wait for permission from even Fate, Jameel sahab, I thought you knew that already.”

“But this—”

Rehman stood up abruptly, spying the SP taking a turn to vanish into the side road from the gate. It led to an abandoned part of the town. 

“Let me handle him. You focus on those suspension letters.”

Rehman ignored Jameel’s protests and gestured at Uzair who had been leaning against their car and walked off in the direction Aslam had taken in an almost leisurely pace, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. 

The plumes of smoke framed his chiselled face in a smoky haze which cut through the chill of the night. 

Uzair would be furious. He had not taken the security. A seemingly stupid move. Going behind the man who very definitely wants to kill you very violently without having any backup. 

But Rehman couldn’t have an audience for what he was about to do. 

Lyari had taught a young Rehman Baloch a lot of things when he had started climbing up the so-called hierarchy of the bloody streets. 

And one crucial thing, which he had never imagined he would ever need let alone actively use, had been the art of seduction. 

Rehman knew he had a certain attractiveness to him which charmed most people into doing his bidding. 

His ace in the hole. 

“Always remember, young Baloch, your body is your weapon. Whether you are fighting or fucking doesn’t matter—”, 

He still very distinctively remembered when Haji Laloo, his former boss had sent him to Gulbahar Begum’s haveli - one of the most sought after prostitutes operating in the notorious red light area of Lyari. 

She apparently helped the gang with the accounts in some way. 

Rehman hadn’t thought much of it then. 

He had been seventeen. The woman was almost ten years older than him. Her beauty was like a razor. Too honed to be natural. Too sharp to feel comfortable. She had looked him over, head to toe, those unnerving hazel eyes boring into him like a particularly hungry eagle. 

“Oh you are going to be unstoppable little Baloch… if only you know how to use all of that—”, she had knocked at his temple, “and… all of that”, she had continued increasingly lasciviously gesturing at his entire body. 

Rehman had snarled at her and snatched the papers he was supposed to collect and practically fled from there. 

Her laughter lingering behind his rapid steps had haunted him for a long time. 

And then one day, one of Haji’s enforcers had looked at him for too long in a weird way that had made his skin roil. And he had finally understood the meaning of the pimp’s words. 

And a few days later he had lured the same enforcer away from the crowd, sucked his brain out of his dick in a narrow alleyway, knees hurting on the filthy ground and then whispered innocently poisonous things in his ears when all his blood had been habiting southwards and his head had been too empty for coherent thought. 

A year later he had rather enjoyed hacking the man to pieces after extracting all the information and milking all the support he could which had ultimately led to Haji Laloo’s downfall and Rehman Dakait’s rise. 

The dirty oily feeling had stopped bothering Rehman after a few months. 

Maybe he has never had much of a soul to have felt anything. 

Uzair was obviously blissfully ignorant and Rehman would rather it stayed that way. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing the disgust reflected in his brother’s usually reverent gaze if he did come to know the truth.

Aslam was leaning against a door of a seemingly uninhabited house, smoking vigorously when Rehman caught up with him. 

“Remember sweetheart, everything in the world is about sex. But sex, is about power”, Gulbahar Begum's sickly saccharine tone seemed to whisper in his ears, her sharp fingernails digging into his back viciously, “ let them think they have all the power. And see how easily they fold over for you, like salivating mongrels.”

SP Chaudhary Aslam had no idea what exactly he would be walking into. 

His ego needed stroking. 

Well, Rehman could do that. And he would do it so well, the SP would never be able to get him out of his mind. Not as long as he lived. He will embed himself into his psyche like a phantom limb. 

Impossible to ignore. 

Aching sweet and repulsively bitter at the same time. 

Anyone who has ever gotten a taste of Rehman has always immediately been addicted. 

There was no middle ground here. 

Either Aslam would shoot him in the face or he would worship the ground he walked on from now. 

The way the SP’s eyes narrowed dangerously on seeing him, Rehman was forced to admit he might have overestimated his own prowess somewhat this time. This would not be an easy fish to bait. 

But he has never liked easy, has he?

Chaudhary Aslam had a striking aura. His gaze was smouldering and the sheer intimacy to his derision for the so monikered Lion of Lyari was strangely arousing. 

This was too personal. The enmity. The hatred. 

And thus, a perfectly ripe opportunity to exploit. 

“Rather bold of you to come behind me without your security. Or shall I say, stupid?’, Aslam said nonchalantly, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath one boot carelessly. 

“Rather bold of you to assume that I don’t have eyes in every corner and every rooftop in these streets. Or shall I say, stupid?”, Rehman countered equally bored before taking in a long drag. 

The tobacco infused smoke spread through his nerves like a relaxant. 

He had to be relaxed. One wrong move and it would be over before it even began. 

“Sometimes I wonder how you have stayed alive till now with that mouth—”, Aslam sneered. 

“People happen to like my mouth quite some bit”, Rehman drawled laconic and saw Aslam’s eyes flash in the moonlight like twin embers, “and you… SP sahab, seem to stare at it quite some bit as well.”

His smirk was more of a challenge than a mockery. The condescence dripping from his grin was strategically poised to incite a violent provocation. And he wasn’t disappointed when Aslam straightened from his leaning position quite dramatically. 

Rehman saw Aslam’s impressive set of muscles stretch and coil under that paper white kurta and was reminded of that corded strength which had enabled the policeman to rip open his broken car door right off the hinges when he had shot at Rehman’s convoy at broad daylight and had practically hauled him away by the scruff of his neck to the police station.

His men had been thrown into utter disarray in the chaos, too shocked at the sheer audacity of the newly transferred SP to be of much help. 

Rehman would be lying if he didn’t feel a small spark of apprehension as Aslam neared him. 

Their size difference was considerable and he could probably snap him in half like a twig if he got ahold of him. 

However this night might go, there was pain registered in his not so distant future. Which was a blessing in disguise because if he could focus on the physical discomfort, the other aspects of control or the lack of it, might get buried underneath. 

Rehman could digest pain. He welcomed it even. 

But loss of control. It was a nightmare scenario for him. 

“You speak too much for a man who knows that I can crush him with my bare hands, right the fuck now”, Aslam was at his face, the distance between them just a hair’s breath. 

This was the moment. 

Rehman blew the smoke on the older man’s mouth, the cigarette between his fingers now and looked up at him from beneath his lashes in a way he knew made his expression look hooded. The moon seemed to have caught up with his intentions tonight as it splayed its silvery beam over him accentuating the sharp angles of his face and softened the curves at the same time. 

He was a siren song wrapped in obsidian fabric and polished leather, smelling of expensive alcohol, nicotine and petrichor, just a hint of the rosewater essence he had applied before the meeting. 

His lips twisted in an almost coy yet somehow mocking smile. 

“And you…”, he tilted his head slightly to meet Aslam’s piercing gaze, “talk big for a man who still hasn’t caught the fucking hint.”

Rehman was preparing up to this moment but what he really wasn’t expecting was the sheer force and the speed with which Aslam would take him. 

The ground beneath his feet was gone for one terrifying moment and the cigarette slipped from his fingers as he was turned around by a steel trap around his waist and rammed so hard against the door of the house Aslam had been leaning on before, that he literally saw stars. 

Then there was a pressure against his throat making him choke back a yelp. 

Aslam had trapped him between his massive frame and the door, one hand wrapped around his throat, the other one like a death grip around one wrist. 

Rehman gasped for air as he struggled in Aslam’s vice grip, the free hand scrabbling at his hold around his throat. 

“Hmm, no barrels pointed at me… you were bluffing then”, Aslam smiled for the first time that night, his face breaking into a slow satisfied look of a predator who had finally trapped his prey. 

Rehman’s heart jumped to his nearly crushed windpipe. 

So, is this how he dies?

Stupid stupid…

But then the pressure was gone from his throat. Not completely, he could still feel those fingers against his bruised throat but his air wasn’t trapped anymore. He heaved once and finally could focus on the face in front. 

Aslam knocked his legs apart with a bruising force and inserted his knee in between and pressed heavily against him. Rehman couldn’t stop the small sound from escaping his mouth at the sudden almost violent contact. It seemed to almost burn through the layers of clothing. 

“Kya hua Baloch? Ab kyun chup hain? Muh me dahi jamm gyi kya?”

Aslam breathed the words against his mouth, the scent of cigarette smoke and their bodies in such close contact almost heating up the air around them. 

Rehman snarled at him, turned his ankle to hook it behind one of Aslam’s feet and turned them around expertly and smashed the surprised SP against the door, his arm a steel band against Aslam’s throat. 

It had been instinct. He should have just let the damned police chief do what he wanted and swallowed down his injured pride. 

The glint in Aslam’s eyes was a shade too cruel to be simply lusty. 

Oh but the lust was unmistakable. It pulsated around them like live vines trapping Rehman to the moment. It was virulent and dark like the shade of the vest he was wearing. 

As expected, Aslam twisted Rehman’s arm violently, knocked his breath off by practically lifting him up and throwing him down like he was but a ragdoll. He was over him in the next second, knee pressing bruising on his chest. 

“Yield!”, the older man spat, delight coating his raspy voice in such a provocative way that it would have made anyone blush to their roots. The color on his cheekbones was probably visible even through the dark. 

Goddamnit, he was losing it. He had to take back control. 

Rehman tried his level best to dislodge him but couldn’t even breathe properly let alone move. Finally he glared at his attacker so hard as if he could kill him with just his eyes, even if the flush over his face refused to go down. 

“Fine! Get off me!”, he spat back viciously and scrambled to his knees the moment Aslam got up, smirking in triumph. 

The smug ass overconfident lout. 

At least he knew the next part. 

Rehman reached towards the police chief’s belt only for the other man to hold his wrist in a punishing grip yet again and pull him up in one powerful move. He looked at him slightly startled and utterly baffled. 

Has he misinterpreted the entire thing?

“If you think you are getting off that easy Dakait, you do not know the fire that you have stoked so recklessly—”, he pulled Rehman violently towards himself and caught his throat again, this time lightly in one hand, “....I will fucking destroy you.”

It was a promise which made an annoying shiver wrack Rehman’s spine. 

The mouth descending on his own was a storm. The taste of scotch and tobacco and something decidedly metal covered Rehman in a blinding fury. It was a war, teeth clashing, tongues battling, sniping and biting and a messy dance for dominance. 

Aslam bit Rehman’s lower lip hard enough to bleed and then licked it right off. 

Rehman’s head was spinning. 

Maybe because of the lack of oxygen and the way Aslam was squeezing his throat expertly throughout their violent kisses. He was leaning into the bigger man by the end of it, his hands gripping those white covered biceps in a grip tight enough to bruise painfully. 

Aslam left his lips with a smack and peered down at him looking irritatingly smug. 

Rehman must be looking a sight. 

Hair completely dishevelled and over his forehead, eyes glazed and unfocused and cheeks burning with heat and lips swollen, spit slicked and dark. 

“Is the house behind occupied?”, Aslam asked, voice gravelly and so hungry that Rehman’s already scattered mind unravelled even more. 

“N….no. Renters… moved out”, he stuttered like a fool. 

‘Goddamnit, get a hold of yourself. It was just a stupid kiss’, his mind rebelled but his body was not listening at all. 

He had never felt someone manhandle him quite like this before. Even if sometimes his partners had been beefier and taller, still he was always the one in complete control, even if he did let them think they were. 

For the first time, someone was making him feel small. 

It was terrifying. 

But Aslam seemed like a man on a mission. He turned around, taking Rehman with him, kicked open the locked door like it was nothing and hauled the Baloch leader inside, manhandling him like he weighed nothing at all. 

“What the—”

Rehman almost squeaked and found himself being pushed against the wall of what appeared to be the living room. The furniture had been laid out fresh it seemed. The owners had probably hired new renters. 

But Rehman had no time to ponder over it as he found himself being lifted against the wall and he instinctively wrapped his legs around that beefy waist. Now, he might be shorter and quite lean but his body was built on pure wiry muscle. He had to be quite freaking heavy. 

But Aslam wasn’t even winded. 

Was the man a machine?

“Ahh!”

Rehman cried out surprised as Aslam sank his teeth on his throat. He scrabbled on the wall with one hand and wrapped his arm around Aslam’s shoulder and neck for support and tried suppressing an almost embarrassing onslaught of moans as his throat was being covered in hickeys. 

He was sure it would look like he had gone ten rounds with a fruit bat once this was over. 

Aslam grinded against him next and Rehman couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his lips when he felt the sheer size and weight of the former’s interest clearly pressing against his own with every move. 

“Fuck..fuck!”, Rehman moaned, writhing against a pooling heat.  

“Patience, little lion. Beg and you shall receive, I believe is the idiom?”, Aslam whispered in his ear, biting the shell and then burying his face back in his throat, mapping biting kisses down the exposed part of his chest. 

When the fuck had he opened his vest? And the buttons of his kurta?

Rehman snarled at the humiliating nickname, “I will tear your throat out!”, he promised hissing at Aslam digging his teeth a little more along one collarbone. 

“Later. Right now, get this fucking thing off—”

Aslam almost ripped the fabric to get it out of the way and Rehman slapped his hands away, opening it and pulling it off him in a move, grumbling about buttons and brothers. The police chief didn’t seem concerned about future decency problems and lifted him back against the wall again and continued his assault on his chest. 

“Godda—ahhh fuck!”

Rehman cried out feeling Aslam’s lips wrap around his nipple and went about such a glorious torture of sucking, teasing and worrying both the buds with his teeth and tongue that it left Rehman whimpering in clear undeniable pleasure.

“Blasphemy… interesting”, Aslam hummed against his skin unrepentant. 

“I murder… people… as a hobby. I..ahh.. Blasphemy… isn’t top of the list..right now”, Rehman said between gritted teeth and escaped moans. 

“Fair.”

The scratch of the SP’s beard was leaving rash marks all over his now bafflingly sensitized skin. 

Rehman didn’t know what was happening any more. 

He had completely lost the plot. 

This was not supposed to happen. He had to speed this up. Foreplay be damned. 

“Goddamnit! Get on with it already!”

He almost yelled, now both hands supported on Aslam’s shoulders, the grinding against his sensitive flesh almost getting to the point of being unbearable. Aslam seemed more interested in one of his old bullet wounds. 

It was a puckered ugly scar tissue on his sternum. A gift from his beloved bastard father. 

Aslam seemed to consider it before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. A jolt went through Rehman like a pure shot of confused ecstasy and he pulled at Aslam’s hair, whimpering loudly, not knowing whether he wanted him to continue or not. He was so hard by now it was almost painful. 

There were clouds swimming inside his head. 

Rehman tightened his hold on the SP’s waist with his legs and started moving almost violently against him, trying to get back even an inch of control. Aslam growled gutturally against him and pressed him back against the wall punishingly. 

“At this point, we’ll be grey before you get on with the program!”, Rehman hissed. 

“Impatient brat!”, he spat and did some odd maneuver to get the rest of Rehman’s clothes off him and pulled off his own white ensemble as well. 

Rehman felt his throat dry up instantly. 

He knew Aslam was beefy and very strong. But seeing him bare like this, even if only by the moonlight was another thing in itself. The size difference between them, naked and exposed, looked even more staggering. 

Chaudhary Aslam was a beast of a man. His physique toughened up through innumerable battles as evident by his own collection of scars and his muscles were all corded and packed with palpable power. No wonder he had been holding all of Rehman’s weight for so long without breaking even a sweat. 

Rehman swallowed hard, grateful for the darkness which was hopefully hiding his expression somewhat because he had finally noticed the weight that had been pressing against him all this time between the older man’s legs. 

It would be less to say that Aslam was hung like a horse. Perfectly in proportion with the rest of his body but in the moonlight, when Rehman’s blood had all left his brain, was looking impossible large. 

‘Oh God, he is going to split me in two!’, his mind whimpered. 

“Still want to get on with the program, Sardar?”

Aslam’s voice jolted Rehman out of his thoughts and he looked at his face, red faced at being caught staring. 

His words were sarcastic yet sounded odd for some reason. 

Was he giving him an out?

What a ludicrous thought?

Rehman pulled him back to himself with a sharp tug as a response and cocked an eyebrow. Aslam grinned at him like a maniac and hauled him up against the wall fluidly and his legs found purchase against his waist again. 

The skin contact scorched through Rehman and he clenched his jaw hard enough to chip his tooth. The heat between them was almost unbearable. It seemed like everything else had receded into the background, melting in a vat of pure unadulterated lust. 

Rehman hissed, wrapped around Aslam’s fingers.

He could appreciate the small mercy somewhat but the bastard had shoved them so roughly inside that it was a moot point. He was gasping for breath, mind a tangled mess, by the time the torture of the preparation was over. 

Rehman sobbed aloud, feeling the hot and hard weight that had been rubbing against his abdomen enter him finally. The draw was painful and he was afraid for a moment that something would tear. His hands were scrabbling for purchase against the wall, on Aslam’s back and his legs couldn’t even wrap themselves completely around that beefy waist, kicking out in the air. 

Rehman was stuck between the wall and the police chief’s body and gravity was doing nothing but making him fall more into the massive burning heat invading him. 

“Ahh!”

Rehman screamed in ecstasy, pain and pleasure so intense and invariably wrapped into each other as Aslam pushed through ruthlessly at the end and somehow immediately managed to find his sweet spot. 

He could feel the bastard’s feral smile against his sweaty skin. 

“Gotcha!”

Aslam announced unabashedly and started moving in a way which made him hit Rehman exactly at the same spot like a bullseye. 

It was a merciless rhythm. And Rehman could do nothing but hold on for dear life and get pounded into the wall, groaning and gasping for breath, pleasure so severe, twisting his nerves into a relentless mass of overwhelming sensation. 

He had never felt anything like this before.

This was pure and raw animalistic contact. 

A primal meeting of bodies and a continuous war for dominance fought in one of the oldest ways known to mankind. The passion in this hatred was a wildfire at its core. It would burn down everything that came in contact with it. 

“Goddamn you are so fucking tight..”, Aslam gasped against his mouth, “I will fucking ruin you. You will feel me for fucking days…”, he growled and just pressed on harder, moving like a freaking machine gun inside him. 

Rehman could feel him inside his throat. The scent of musk and sweat and raw masculine power was a heady concoction in the air making him feel lightheaded. 

The pressure was building in his own core like magma. 

“Ahh Aslam.. Slow ahh.. slow down…”, Rehman sobbed against the bastard’s ear, digging his fingers into the scarred meat of the shoulders. 

But the monster was awake and it would not sleep till its lust was slaked. 

The world was syrupy and Rehman was busy seeing fireworks under his squeezed shut eyes, head thrown back against the wall in pure pleasure when the SP suddenly moved out of him. Rehman almost screamed in frustration. 

He had been so fucking close. 

Aslam, perfectly aware of it, as it seemed by his monstrous grin, put the younger man down on his feet and laughed like a bastard when Rehman’s knees almost gave way, legs shaking violently. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”, he shouted enraged, leaning against the wall for support. 

“Ohh everything..”, Aslam answered and in a move so fast that it was almost invisible hauled Rehman right off the ground onto his shoulder like a bag of rice and walked further inside the house, “but I just wanted to see you falter like a new born foal.”

“Fucking hell! Let me down motherfucker!”

Anger at the outrageous humiliation hit Rehman so hard he forgot about his arousal for a moment and struggled to get off the painfully hard shoulder digging into his stomach. 

“Woah, you kiss your mother with that mouth? Wait… you killed her so you definitely can’t kiss her anymore—”, Aslam drawled, completely unbothered by Rehman’s weak struggling. 

“I will put a fucking bullet in your dick y— ahh!”

It was a mix of shock and pain which had Rehman yelping when Aslam hit him hard enough to bruise on one buttcheek. 

“Shut the fuck up! Let me find the bed and stop wriggling”, Aslam warned like he was a child and exclaimed finally getting what he apparently had been searching for. 

Rehman gasped again as he was thrown on the bed so hard, he almost bounced off. 

Aslam was over him the next second. 

“Good, now open up little lion, I wasn’t finished”, he snarked, pulling Rehman’s legs open and entering inside him so violently and suddenly that the younger man could only cry out and arch off the bed in shock. 

“You.. call me that….one more time.. And I will….tear you in half…”, Rehman growled through his gasps as Aslam kept pounding into him just as relentlessly as he had been against the wall. 

The new position was both a relief and more frustrating at the same time. Now Rehman had a more comfortable surface behind his back but he was also being bent in half like a freaking pretzel so there was that. 

It was sudden when Rehman felt the release, spiralling with wild abandon, completely unperturbed about him and his legendary control that was lying somewhere in pieces. He was so far gone in pleasure, he hadn’t bothered to lower his voice at all. 

As the dam finally broke Rehman screamed into the sheets smelling suspiciously of lavender and detergent, his hands fisting the folds so tight that they almost tore. 

Aslam didn’t even bother slowing down, railing him through his climax in that same savage rhythm. 

“Please….please…”

Rehman finally pleaded, agony and arousal blanketing his pride completely as he sobbed through the oversensitivity, tears rolling down his face in tandem. 

Aslam just laughed darkly against the brilliantly blooming love bites spread over his chest and put one of his trembling legs over his shoulder and pulled the other one to place the back of the knee of the leg over the crook of his elbow, spreading the younger man open even wider for himself. 

The new position let him drive into Rehman even deeper than before, hammering his sweet spot bruising hard as time passed. 

Rehman could only throw his head from side to side helplessly as his cries turned higher and more desperate. For a moment he was half sure he would die here like this. 

Crushed between some stranger’s sheets and SP Chaudhary Aslam of the Lyari police force fucking him like a rutting animal. 

Uzair would be so disappointed in him. 

Finally Aslam let out a fucking roar which vibrated through Rehman’s entire body and climaxed almost violently inside him. The liquid heat spreading through him had him whimpering in annoyance and a strange spike of pleasure. 

‘He didn’t even pull out, this bitchass fucker!’, his mind protested exhausted. 

At least the older man was careful enough to not fall completely over him with his entire body weight. He was still half crushed beneath him, trying to stop his legs from shaking violently. His lungs were burning from the goddamned marathon his heart had run in the past few minutes. 

Rehman groaned and pushed Aslam away and rolled off to the other side, breathing heavily into the sheets. He could already feel the soreness spread throughout his lower body. It will be a fucking chore trying to explain to his brother why was limping around for a few days, or wincing when sitting down. 

Goddamned monster of a man, fucked him into near unconsiousness. 

He almost forgot what he was supposed to have been doing. 

The moon was still shining brightly outside and Rehman felt his muscles strain in an effort to get up. He could barely move let alone stand up straight right now. He had to silently make reparations to the house before the new renters moved in. 

He was sure he had scratched the plaster off of the living room wall and the bedsheets are definitely ruined. 

Aslam was staring at him when he turned over. His gaze - almost unnerving in its unreadability. He seemed to have been staring at his back before. No doubt wondering about the messy ugly scar tissues criss crossing over the entire expanse of his back.

“If you think this changes anything, you are dead wrong. You are an animal and one day I will kill you like one.”

Aslam’s words were cool, devoid of the dizzy heat that had been wrapped around it the entire time he had fucked Rehman six ways to sunday, like a deranged creature himself. 

Rehman smirked, his lips curled in that notoriously terrifying slant that had stolen the sleep of many a powerful man. 

“I will be waiting then, SP Sahab…”

________________

“Bhai, I swear to god. First you wander off on your own behind that devil of an SP and refuse to take your security and now you come back bruised to hell and…. those look very odd for—”, 

Uzair tried pulling Rehman’s collar a little to see the brilliant constellation of bruises on his throat over what looked like finger marks, only for his older brother to knock his hand off, glaring daggers at him. 

“Knock it off Uzair. The SP and I had a talk. Things got heated. I’m fine. Jameel sahab will take care of him, forget about it”, Rehman said nonchalantly pouring himself a glass of the cheap scotch from the corner street. 

“Whatever you say Bhaijaan”, Uzair muttered rolling his eyes and walking off in a huff. 

Rehman winced as he sat down on the chair and waited for the phone call. 

It came five minutes later. 

“You fucker!”

SP Aslam’s voice thundered from the phone like a lightening crack, loathing so potent in the tone that Rehman could almost taste its bitter flavor in the air. 

“Got the tape did you?”, Rehman whispered hoarsely and took a careful sip. 

His throat was still hurting from screaming so much. 

“You recorded us, you fucking psychopath! If this gets released, your reputation will also go down the fucking drain!”

“SP sahab, come on. I am a lowly street thug not a politician. People have forgiven me for massacres, what do you think that video will do to me?”

Rehman knew it as well as Aslam that the way the video had been shot, would show an SP of the Lyari task force specially appointed to hunt Rehman Dakait and has had public encounters with the same, was fucking him against the wall as Rehman screamed. 

A low quality video where their faces might be visible, their sounds too, of only a strategic position but not their expressions. 

No one would see the expression of naked lust on Rehman’s face. 

Only his gasps and whimpers and his fucking begging to Aslam to slow down. 

Rehman had finally hooked his fish. 

“I will kill you”, Aslam whispered venomously. 

“I believe you. Now, if you don’t want that to go public. Please get the fuck off my fucking way. Leave Lyari, leave the fucking police force, I don’t care. If I ever see you or even hear the mention of your name, this will go to every news media in the country.”

Rehman’s words were slow and pointed and had just the right amount of gravity needed for it to land. 

The breathing on the line turned choppy before stilling. 

Then the phone was cut. 

Rehman winced while leaning against his throne gingerly and raised his alcohol glass in the air in an imaginary toast. The whiskey went down his bruised throat like liquid fire.