#sub uzair

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

“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

Ayla clapped her hands in excitement. “A palace!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ameena said, her tone superior. “Kings and princesses live in palaces. Our country doesn’t have loyalty.”

 “Royalty,” Rangi corrected her, locking the car. “If you’re going to call someone stupid, make sure you don’t make mistakes yourself.”

 Ayla beamed at Rangi and grabbed his hand. “I like you, Mr. Rangi!”

Rangi stared down at the tiny girl with a vaguely puzzled expression on his face, before looking at Uzair.

 Suppressing a smile, Uzair said, “Leave Mr. Rangi alone, Ayla. Come on, take my hand.”

 Ayla pouted but let go of Rangi’s hand and took Uzair’s. Ameena took his other hand while a few servants came out to take their luggage inside.

“I don’t like him,” Ameena said as they walked to the house.

“Don’t be rude, sweetie,” Uzair said, glancing at the man in question, who walked alongside them. “Mr. Rangi can hear you.”

 Rangi’s eyes were focused on the house; he showed no sign of listening to the conversation.

Uzair averted his gaze. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he had this immaculately dressed, stern-faced man grunting and moving on top of him.

“But I don’t like him,” Ameena said stubbornly but lowered her voice. “Don’t like how he looks at you.”

“How he looks at me?” Uzair repeated.

“Like Ayla looks at a pancake.”

Uzair forced a smile. This was a whole new level of awkward. “You just imagined it, pumpkin.”

“But—”

“You just imagined it,” Uzair repeated, hoping Rangi hadn’t heard Ameena’s words.

Rangi’s face was hard and cold, devoid of all colour. This was a man who was coming home to his father after fifteen years. He looked about as happy as a man on his way to jail.

A butler—a goddamn butler—opened the door and greeted Rangi with a quiet, “Master Jaskirat.”

Uzair led the girls inside. They looked shy and nervous, and Uzair had to admit he wasn’t any less nervous than them; he was simply better at disguising it.

His first impression of the hall was of vastness. It was more than a little overwhelming.

“Jaskirat!”

Uzair looked up. A tall, dark-haired woman was walking down the stairs, a vaguely relieved smile on her lips. She hugged Rangi and kissed him on the cheek.

“Vaneet,” Rangi murmured. “You look good.”

So this was the sister who had convinced him to come.

Uzair eyed her curiously. He could certainly see the family resemblance. She seemed a few years older than her brother, perhaps thirty-five.

Vaneet pulled back and stared at Uzair and the girls over Rangi’s shoulder, but before she or Uzair could say anything, two elderly men entered the house.

One of them, the taller one, bore an uncanny resemblance to Rangi. In fact, they could have been twins if the man wasn’t about thirty years older. Uzair decided this must be Rangi’s father, Jaiveer Rangi.

“The prodigal son returns,” Jaiveer said with a sneer. “I knew this day would come.”

“Then you were wrong,” Rangi said coldly. “I came only because Vaneet wouldn’t stop nagging me. Apparently, you’re practically on your deathbed.”

“Jaskirat!” Vaneet said, looking outraged.

“I’ll have to disappoint you, then,” Jaiveer said. “I’m in excellent health.” He was lying. He had an almost grey tinge to his complexion. “So, you won’t get my money any time soon.”

“You know I don’t need your money,” Rangi said.

They glared at each other icily, and the resemblance they shared was striking. Uzair wondered if Rangi knew it and resented it.

At this moment, Jaiveer shifted his gaze to Uzair.

His sharp dark eyes swept over him from head to toe, making Uzair painfully aware of his worn, cheap clothes.

Rangi senior’s lips twisted in derision. “And this?”

Rangi took a step toward Uzair and put a hand on his shoulder. “This is my lover, Uzair Baloch.”

The other old man inhaled sharply.

Jaiveer’s face betrayed nothing, yet somehow, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a dozen degrees.

Uzair grimaced on the inside, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected that.

“Uzair, this is my father, Jaiveer Singh Rangi,” Rangi said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. The asshole was absolutely enjoying this. “And my father’s old friend, Nihash Singh Chander.”

“Nice to meet you,” Uzair lied, wondering if Mr. Chander was the man whose daughter Jaiveer wanted his son to marry.

“I see,” Jaiveer said at last before shifting his heavy gaze to the twins. “And these are?”

Uzair suppressed the urge to hide the girls behind his back. “These are my sisters, Mr. Rangi. Ameena and Anayla.” For once, Ayla remained quiet and didn’t argue about her name. Both girls moved closer to Uzair.

“I see,” Jaiveer Rangi said again before addressing a maid. “Prepare rooms for our guests.”

“Prepare a room next to mine for the children,” Rangi cut in. “Obviously Uzair will stay in mine.”

Uzair cringed a bit.

The vein in Jaiveer’s temple throbbed. Vaneet watched her father worriedly. Mr. Chander had a look of disgust on his face that he didn’t even bother to hide.

“Do as he says,” Jaiveer Rangi bit out, breaking the silence. “Show them to their rooms. Dinner is in half an hour. Jaskirat, a word.”

Uzair turned to follow the maid when a hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. “I’ll see you shortly,”

Rangi said and gave him a brief kiss. Or at least it was probably supposed to be a brief kiss, but Uzair found his lips clinging and parting, eager. He felt Rangi’s surprise before Rangi grabbed his neck and kissed him for real. The kiss seemed to go on forever.

By the time Rangi finally pulled back, Uzair could barely breathe.

Uzair didn’t look around to see everyone’s reaction—he could well imagine it.

Grabbing the girls, he followed the maid.

His face was very warm.

--------

To say the dinner was awkward would be an understatement. It wasn’t just awkward: it was painful.

 It was only ten minutes in and Uzair was already glancing at the clock on the wall.

The toxic atmosphere in the room was so thick it could be sliced. He’d never seen so much passive-aggressiveness between family members. Now Uzair was glad Ameena and Ayla hadn’t Been allowed to eat with the adults.

The annoying part was, no one said anything outright; everything was carefully hidden behind bland smiles and polished manners. Aman, Vaneet’s husband, was the only one who seemed to be struggling to hide his dislike for his brother-in-law.

Rangi didn’t pay Aman much mind, though; his most cutting remarks were reserved for his father. Rangi was rather infamous for his ruthlessness in college, but it was nothing compared to his nastiness towards his father. Uzair would have felt sorry for Jaiveer Singh Rangi if the old man wasn’t actually worse. Within the first ten minutes, Jaiveer had managed to insult everything from his son’s intelligence to his sexuality, his tone full of derision and contempt.

Watching them, Uzair was beginning to understand why Rangi had left his home and hadn’t returned in fifteen years. He was also beginning to understand why Rangi was such a control freak. His father’s personality was so domineering that he had likely developed the similar need to control everything as a defence mechanism.

“They do realize how much they’re alike, right?” Uzair murmured to Vaneet, making sure that Rangi, who sat on his other side, couldn’t hear him. Vaneet seemed to be the only friendly face at the table.

She sighed. “I think that’s partly why they hate each other,” she murmured. “Though deep down, they care for one another.”

Uzair looked at the father and son sniping at each other and gave her a sceptical look.

Vaneet smiled humourlessly. “I know, it’s hard to believe, but Father does care about Jaskirat.” Her eyes became distant. “When we were kids, Father used to be very proud of him. I used to envy Jaskirat. Things became…difficult when Father found out about Jaskirat’s sexuality, but I’m sure he still cares. If he didn’t, he would have disowned him ages ago and removed him from his will.” Glancing at her husband, she lowered her voice. “Aman is really angry about it. He’s Been working at the family company for years and thinks he deserves to inherit it.”

“Ah,” Uzair said. That explained Aman’s animosity.

Speaking of the man, Aman chose that moment to turn to Uzair and ask, “So, do you work? Or does my brother-in-law pay your bills for spreading your legs for him?”

Silence dropped over the table, and Uzair felt himself flush.

He couldn’t believe Aman had actually said that. And judging by the uncomfortable look that flashed over Aman’s face, he couldn’t believe it, either. But then Aman set his jaw, looking stubborn and determined: he might have regretted saying it, but he clearly wasn’t taking it back.

Uzair bit his lip, unsure what to say. Aman’s words hit a bit too close to home. Of course, no one here knew the nature of his relationship with Rangi, but nevertheless, it made him feel embarrassed and humiliated. Uzair hadn’t completely come to terms with it himself, and now…he felt like a whore. It was ridiculous, but it was the first time he truly felt it. He hadn’t felt like a whore when he sucked Rangi’s dick for money; he felt like a whore as he sat in this posh dining room with all these snobby people.

“Apologize.” Rangi. It was spoken in a quiet, steely voice, but everyone in the room heard him.

 Aman glared at Rangi. “Why would I? We all can see he’s poor and fucking you for—”

“You will apologize,” Rangi said, his tone dangerously soft.

“Aman, please,” Vaneet said, awkwardly. “That was uncalled for—”

“Apologize,” Rangi said again.

Jaiveer Singh Rangi said nothing, watching the exchange between his son and son-in-law like a hawk.

“It’s all right,” Uzair said lightly.

Rangi ignored him and continued glowering at Aman, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. “He will apologize or we’re leaving.”

Uzair thought it was an odd threat to make, because Aman would be clearly delighted if they left, but Jaiveer Singh Rangi frowned. “Apologize, boy. No one insults my guests.”

Except for you, Uzair thought, not without humour.

Aman said stiffly, “My apologies if I offended anyone. It wasn’t my intention.”

Rangi didn’t look satisfied in the least, his body tense and eyes narrowed.

“If you must know,” Uzair told Aman. “I’m a student, and I work part-time as a waiter. Yes, Jaskirat pays most of my bills. I’m not ashamed of that. I’m lucky to have such a supportive, dependable partner.” He looked Aman in the eye. “And if I ‘spread my legs for him,’ it has nothing to do with it, and it’s definitely none of your business.” Uzair raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure why you even brought it up, Aman. Unless you’re envious.”

He smiled as the asshole’s face slowly turned red. Uzair didn’t even mind the stunned, awkward silence that descended upon the room. He picked up his fork and started eating again, ignoring everyone.

He could feel Rangi’s gaze on him.

Uzair didn’t turn his head.

---------

Uzair spent a few hours playing with Ameena and Ayla after dinner.

When the twins were finally exhausted and fell asleep, Uzair returned to his—their—bedroom.

It was empty.

Unsure if he was relieved or disappointed, Uzair grabbed fresh clothes and took a long shower. He stood for a while with the water pouring over his naked body and thought of the fact that he was going to share a bed with Rangi. All night.

Uzair looked down at his half-hard dick and sighed. This was all so confusing. Rangi was a man. He was also one fucked up asshole. He couldn’t possibly be excited about sharing a bed with him.

Annoyed with his body, Uzair dried himself, dressed, and stepped back into the bedroom.

At first, he thought Rangi was still elsewhere. Then he spotted a tall figure out on the balcony.

Slowly, Uzair made his way towards the door, slid it open, and stepped out into the night. When the chilly air hit him, he shivered a little and wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm. It was still pretty warm for November, but it was not warm enough for one thin layer.

Rangi had a cigarette in his hand. He didn’t turn his head.

Uzair leaned against the balcony railings, mirroring Rangi’s posture. “He’s really ill, you know.”

 He noticed the subtle stiffening of Rangi’s shoulders only because he was watching him closely.

 “Yes,” Rangi said tonelessly. “He’s dying.”

Uzair couldn’t say he was surprised.

“I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Rangi took a long drag from his cigarette. “There’s no love lost between us.”

Uzair looked at the moon as it peeked out from the clouds. “When my parents died, they left huge debts. The house had to be sold to pay off creditors, so I ended up homeless, barely legal, and with two toddlers to care for. Sometimes I hate them. For dying, for being so irresponsible and putting me in this position.” He felt his throat thicken and had to swallow the lump. Breathing in the clear night air, he tilted his face upward to feel the breeze brush across his skin. “But I miss them. So fucking much.”

Rangi didn’t say anything.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

 “He’s your dad,” Uzair said.

Rangi stubbed the cigarette out. “I didn’t bring you here so that you can lecture me about the importance of family.” His voice was clipped. Irritated.

“No. You brought me here to annoy your dad and prove your point. Don’t you think it’s petty and nasty?”

“He’s no victim. Dying doesn’t make him less of a piece of shit.”

“It doesn’t,” Uzair agreed. “And you know nothing about our relationship.”

“You’re right: I know nothing. We’ve already established I’m just a dumb pretty boy.”

 Rangi turned to him. Uzair could feel the heat of his glare even in the dark.

“You’re incredibly annoying,” Rangi said before yanking Uzair to him and crushing their lips together.

Several minutes later, Uzair opened his eyes and said, “This is annoying, too. You’re using my oral fixation thing against me.”

Rangi kissed him again, and everything went dizzy, hot, and overwhelming.

Some unidentifiable time later, Uzair opened his eyes again and found himself lying in bed. Naked. And Rangi was licking his nipple.

“We aren’t having sex,” Uzair said.

“Of course we aren’t,” Rangi agreed. He was naked, too.

Uzair’s dazed gaze skimmed over his broad shoulders, densely muscled chest, and taut stomach, before lingering on his hard red cock. He felt his mouth water.

“No, seriously,” Uzair tried again but bit his lip when Rangi wrapped a hand around his erection. God. “We aren’t having sex.”

Rangi stroked Uzair’s cock a few times before letting go and spreading Uzair’s thighs.

Uzair tensed.

Rangi stroked his inner thighs, his hands strong, and big, and so good—

“Don’t even think about it,” Uzair managed.

“Just lie back and enjoy, Baloch.”

Uzair laughed. “Right. Like I don’t know what you really want. You want to stick your dick in me.”

Rangi’s eyes seemed black as they met his. “I do want to ‘stick my dick’ in you. Before the night is over, you’ll want me to stick my dick in you, too.”

Uzair snorted, looking at Rangi’s thick cock. “There’s no way in hell I’ll let that thing anywhere near my ass.”

“We’ll see.” Rangi’s finger pressed firmly against the spot behind Uzair’s balls, making Uzair gasp. “I think you will. And you’ll look good on my cock.”

Uzair flushed. “Fuck you. You’re such an asshole. Bossy and—”

“Stop pretending you don’t like it.” Rangi’s big hands stroked Uzair’s thighs again. “You like having someone in charge of you. You like to not have to be responsible for once and just let go.”

 Uzair opened his mouth to protest but he couldn’t deny it. His dick seemed to like Rangi’s bossiness a whole lot. “It doesn’t mean I want your dick in my ass. I’m not even sure how that’s supposed to feel good. There’s no way it’ll fit.”

“It’ll fit, don’t worry.” Rangi’s eyes looked dazed with lust as they roamed over Uzair’s naked body. “I must fuck you. The sooner, the better.”

Uzair licked his lips. “I don’t think—”

“Turn onto your stomach,” Rangi said.

“I—”

“Turn onto your stomach,” Rangi said again, in the tone of voice he used in classroom.

Uzair’s cock twitched. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and told himself he could stop Rangi any moment if things got too weird. He would.

Hands kneaded and stroked his ass before something wet and soft touched his buttock.

Uzair tensed. “Wait—”

“Relax, you’ll like it. All straight boys like it.” Rangi chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, it won’t make you gay.”

Uzair found himself blushing. “Um, I had a shower, and I’m clean, but—”

“You have a beautiful ass.” Rangi bit his buttock. “I’ve wanted to do this to you for ages.”

Rangi’s lips closed down around his hole and sucked, and Uzair’s brain gave up the battle. Rangi’s tongue pressed forward, tracing around his hole before giving it a long lick, and Uzair moaned, his thighs spreading wider of their own volition. Christ, nothing should feel this good.

Soft, and slick, he felt Rangi’s tongue licking him, lapping at his hole with abandon. Then Rangi’s thumbs held him open to the assault.

Fuck. Rangi’s tongue worked into him slowly, giving soft jabs at his centre, parting the muscle, coaxing it to relax, sliding inside. Eating him out. So filthy, so wrong, but Uzair made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, rutting against the mattress, his cock rock hard and throbbing.

“More,” he gasped, shifting his body until he was on his knees, legs spread and head hung low. The sharpness of a shaved jaw scratched the soft flesh of his buttocks, intensifying the sensations and reminding him once again that it was a man licking his hole. It was his professor eating him out.

The thought sent a rush of blood to his cock and he whimpered, pushing back against Rangi’s mouth as Rangi fucked him with his tongue. It wasn’t enough. His hole felt oversensitive, clenching for something hard to grab hold of.

They moved together, that wicked tongue trying to get deeper into him with every forward thrust. He was whimpering and shaking so badly, on edge and unable to come. He ached, and Rangi’s tongue wasn’t big enough, couldn’t get deep enough, and Uzair needed more. “More.”

Rangi pulled away from him, and then there were slick fingers massaging Uzair’s entrance with a circular motion, and Uzair moaned. He was having trouble thinking, his body taking over and trying to impale itself on Rangi’s fingers. Rangi pushed the fingers in—one, then another, scissoring them quickly before pulling them out again.

Panting, Uzair waited. He heard the sound of a condom wrapper tearing open. It should have made him panic—what was about to happen— but he was past the point of freaking out. He was so empty. So hard.

Rangi flipped him onto his back. Shoving a pillow under Uzair’s hips, he lined himself up between his legs, his dark eyes glazed with desire.

Uzair willed himself to relax as the thick head of Rangi’s cock slowly started to stretch him. He felt himself pulled taut, burning, as Rangi slowly pushed into him, Uzair’s insides reluctantly giving way to the intrusion.

“Oh,” Uzair breathed out when Rangi was fully inside. He gripped Rangi’s arms, his thighs trembling. It hurt a little.

Rangi took a deep breath in, his muscles rigid under Uzair’s fingers. Rangi’s body was tense as hell, as though he was fighting for control.

Uzair’s eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open as he panted hotly. He was practically impaled on Rangi’s cock, pleasure chasing the pain as he was stretched to his limit. He felt so full, Rangi’s cock heavy inside him in all the right ways. It still ached, creating an exquisite agony that made his cock throb and leak against his stomach. The sensation of fullness was satisfying in a way he couldn’t explain.

“I’m good,” Uzair said, and to his surprise, he was. The intensity, the feeling of vulnerability was doing strange things to him, and he was melting, and he wanted—

Rangi started moving. Uzair could only open and close his mouth uselessly as the weird, intense pleasure started building up. Rangi’s cock nudged against his prostate, hard, and Uzair cried out, fingers digging into Rangi’s shoulders. “Oh god, oh god,” he muttered between unintelligible words and noises as Rangi thrust in and out, fucking him in earnest now. It still hurt, but Uzair could only concentrate on the intense, maddening pleasure building up inside of him. He was aching all over, need pumping in him as Rangi’s cock buried deep in him, but not deep enough, never enough, and it was good, so good, so very good—

Tossing his head back, Uzair bit his lip as Rangi practically bent him in half, directing his cock at an angle that made Uzair whimper.

Rangi leaned down and started kissing him in time with his thrusts, his tongue delving deeply, and all Uzair could do was hold on and ride with the storm. He completely lost track of time, his whole world narrowing to Rangi—Jaskirat—his hot mouth, his cock, his hands roaming all over Uzair’s body. Uzair wasn’t even speaking anymore, just taking it and moaning. His hole was twitching around Rangi’s cock as Rangi pounded into him without restraint, kissing and biting Uzair’s neck and shoulders. Uzair’s dick was near bursting and he tried to touch himself, but Rangi didn’t let him.

Uzair could feel his belly tightening, feel his hole begin to pulse, throbbing down around the hard cock that continued to fuck him, never letting up, taking his breath and his sanity and his inhibitions.

 Uzair groaned, digging his fingers into Rangi’s shoulders. “I can’t —”

“You can.” Rangi gave a brutal thrust against Uzair’s prostate, his fingers gripping Uzair’s hips painfully. “Come on.”

And Uzair came, his body shuddering as his orgasm ripped through him. Rangi slammed into him a few times before groaning and going very still on top of him.

Uzair lay limply under him, his breathing still erratic, his body quivering in aftershocks.

He felt himself drift off to sleep, feeling warm, good, and satisfied.

--------

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

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

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: