Captured: NC-17, PWP
The room was cold.
Sergei’s knees ached as they pressed against the unforgiving concrete floor, pinned beneath him as he knelt. The air in the basement room was stale, chill, raising goosebumps on his bare arms and prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. His wrists were trapped behind him with a length of rope, the rough hemp scratching at his skin, at his neck, a lead dangling down his back available to his captor at any time should he desire some cruel way to drag him around. The beret he wore with its marking-damning-symbols of allegiance fell skewed over his right eye, his head tilted down toward the floor and his jaw clenched in stubborn silence, back defiantly straight.
A hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked.
“Jumpy, are we?” his captor murmured, amusement in his voice. Sergei scowled as the young man walked around him, raising his gaze to meet one enigmatically gray. The Ukrainian rebel was tall and dark, his features striking, lean body clothed in the scruffy attire typical of the oft-ragtag resistance fighters. Sergei narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not telling you anything,” he said sharply, preempting any attempts of interrogation. The Ukrainian-Zherdev, his name was Zherdev, Sergei remembered it being shouted during his capture-just offered him an easy smile, shrugging his shoulders casually.
“It doesn’t matter. Your companions have already told us enough. Or should I call them your command…Colonel Sergei Fedorov?”
Shit.
Sergei looked away at the revelation of the knowledge of his identity and rank, much to his captor’s delight. Zherdev reached out and placed his fingers beneath Sergei’s chin, tilting his head up; meeting the Russian’s incensed glare.
“How many people have you killed, Soviet?” he whispered.
His voice was soft, dangerously soft, dangerously intense-but still Sergei was surprised when knuckles cracked hard across his mouth.
“How many innocent lives have you taken?” Zherdev hissed as Sergei blinked away the stars in his vision, snatching the beret from his head, fingers clenching in the black material. Sergei watched fixedly as the identifying red star with its image of hammer and sickle was ripped from the cap and hurled to the corner of the room. The next instant fingers clenched in his hair, jerking his head back with a painful snap in order that furious grey eyes could meet his gaze.
“How many?” Zherdev demanded.
“No innocents,” Sergei rasped, his voice constricted with the pressure put on his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. “Never innocents.”
“You don’t know that,” Zherdev spat, curling his lip in disgust. He dropped Sergei’s head and stalked across the room, pacing back and forth like a caged panther, prowling in front of him. His movements were graceful and catlike and Sergei found himself unwillingly mesmerized, watching the feral creature that held his life in his hands. He kept silent and at length Zherdev stilled, his back facing Sergei, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Bullets are not selective, Soviet,” he said softly.
Who did you lose? Sergei wondered. Who was taken from you? A parent, a sibling? A friend? A lover?
The sympathy he felt was startling, and Sergei shook himself from the emotion.
Feel no empathy for the enemy.
“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly. He kept his tone level and firm, and it seemed to shake Zherdev out of his mood. The rebel turned with an eyebrow arched and his lips curled in a smirk, grey gaze cool and calculating once more.
“What can you offer me?” he challenged, sauntering back over. Sergei caught his breath at the heated look in his captor’s eyes, something hot and tight coiling in his gut.
“I have nothing to give,” he replied softly. His voice came out raspy, hoarse, and inwardly he cursed himself for showing such weakness in front of an enemy. Zherdev’s smile widened, and Sergei looked away with his cheeks burning in humiliation.
“Just kill me now and get it over with,” he said lowly, ducking his head. “You already know everything, and I can’t be used as a hostage. There is no reason for you to keep me alive. I’m useless to you.”
“Is that so?” Zherdev mused. He came to a stop right in front of Sergei, his boots encroaching on the bound Russian’s vision, and Sergei looked up in surprise at his captor’s proximity. Zherdev raised a hand and he flinched away, expecting a blow-only to be further bewildered as a calloused palm cupped his cheek, gracefully long fingers sliding into his hair. He lifted wide eyes to meet the rebel Ukrainian’s as his head was tilted back, a thumb smoothing across his cheek in an intimate caress.
Zherdev’s grey eyes had darkened to nearly black, and the look in his eyes was burning and unmistakable.
Sergei threw himself backward with a hoarse cry. He landed hard on his tailbone, pain jolting through him and his arms pinned beneath his body as he stared at the still-amused rebel in horror.
“I’m not-I’m not, you can’t-”
Zherdev laughed and moved forward, and despite Sergei’s efforts to scramble backward he was well and caught, Zherdev leaning down and curling his fingers around the makeshift collar encircling his neck, boots on either side of Sergei’s hips. He yanked up and Sergei choked, the rough hemp tightening around his throat constricting his air and forcing him to move with his captor’s hand; unable to breathe until he managed to struggle back onto his knees and shuffle forward as Zherdev took a few steps back, barely able to push himself up with his arms so tightly bound. When the pressure released he gasped desperately for air, his body meekly limp as he rested his forehead against Zherdev’s thigh, feeling the man’s hand rest on his head.
“I can do a lot of things, Sergei,” the rebel said softly, stroking his fingers almost tenderly through Sergei’s hair. “A lot of things to you. And you can’t do anything to stop me; do you understand this?”
Sergei shivered and nodded, not daring to look up. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he found himself inexplicably hardening at being so thoroughly-so easily-dominated by this slip of a boy; this boy playing war. He knew what he got off on, knew what he liked, but never did he think that in such a circumstance…
Zherdev cupped Sergei’s head in his palm, pressing insistently against his temple, guiding him between his legs. He felt his heartbeat escalate as his nose pressed against the rebel’s crotch, brushing over the zipper of his pants. At Zherdev’s wordless command he nuzzled him, hesitantly, rubbing his cheek against him as his eyes fluttered shut, feeling his growing arousal through the worn camo pants. He parted his lips to mouth him through the material, which soaked his saliva, drying his mouth, but still he continued-sucking softly, rubbing his cheek against him, closing his lips as far around his girth as was possible. He felt the shudder run through Zherdev’s body, heard the quiet moan that the rebel tried but failed to stifle; and the reactions, so uncontrolled, so wanting, coming from this man that had him under his control… The fact he held such a sway over his captor brought a curling grin to Sergei’s lips, the subtle turn of power delighting him to no uncertain degree.
“Ah…christ…”
Sergei opened his eyes, looking up from beneath lowered lashes. Zherdev’s eyes were midnight black, intense and wild, burning into him. His chest was heaving and Sergei kept their gazes locked together even as he continued his limited ministrations. Zherdev groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tightening in Sergei’s hair-and then abruptly yanking him away. Swearing incoherently, the Ukrainian pulled his head away with one hand while the other fumbled at his belt, pulling it open, undoing the button of his fly and pulling down the zipper hastily. His body shook with suppressed want and his hands shook with eagerness; and Sergei smirked, wickedly and to himself.
Zherdev pressed the tip of his cock urgently against his lips and Sergei parted them without question, lost in a haze of lust and a power trip unlike anything else. The threat of punishment if he stopped was now only a distant concern on his mind. This had stopped being about force and had become about being in control, about losing control; about the way he was making Zherdev whimper softly, gasp quietly, moan and thrust helplessly into his mouth. His captor’s fingers were slack in pleasure, only loosely curled in his hair, and it allowed him more leave to control the pace; to wrap his lips in a tight ring around the base of his cock, to bob up and down as fast or slow as he wanted; to pull away a little and tease the head with just the tip of his tongue, splaying flat against the weeping slit and making Zherdev cry out hoarsely and spasm beneath his touch.
“Fuck…oh fuck…oh god…”
The rebel was fast losing it, his legs trembling, his eyes tightly shut; his mouth open slack in ecstasy. Sergei watched him-watched him arch on his toes, watched him pant for air; watched him bite his lip as he sought not to come in order to experience the pleasure longer. Zherdev was beautiful, darkly and exotically beautiful, wild and untamed…
Reality struck, and Sergei froze.
I’m still his prisoner. I shouldn’t be-
But then Zherdev was coming with a hoarse cry and Sergei, unprepared, gagged as he buried himself deep in his mouth. The blunt tip of his cock hit the back of his throat and he sought desperately to swallow, choking, tears springing to his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Zherdev pulled away a little and what was left slid across Sergei’s tongue, his lips, trickling from his mouth as he slumped forward in order to gasp for air, his chest heaving as he sucked in oxygen. He was barely aware of Zherdev’s hands on his shoulders, flexing in the material of his shirt; the feeling oddly comforting as the rebel himself struggled to regain his composure even as Sergei coughed feebly, his head bowed.
Fingers tucked beneath his chin and tilted his head up and Zherdev was kneeling down, and the next instant his lips were moving across Sergei’s flesh-his tongue dragging a hot line over his mouth, his chin, his neck; lapping at the cum that streaked his skin. He returned with a growl to Sergei’s mouth, his tongue forcing its way hungrily past his lips, and Sergei moaned a little, whimpered a little; melted a little under that erotic onslaught before finally collecting himself enough to tear away.
He knelt there, his knees aching, staring at the ground, breathing heavily, his shoulders hunched as he waited for what Zherdev would do. But after a short, tense silence the rebel chuckled and raised his hand, rubbing his knuckles against Sergei’s cheek. He flinched but didn’t try to draw away, fearing a blow if he were to do so. Those long fingers curled around his throat, just resting against his skin-not tightening, just there, but even so, his heart started pounding in trepidation.
“Did you like that, Sergei?” Zherdev purred, stroking his fingers across Sergei’s throat; walking around him, out of sight. There was the sound of cloth rustling, falling to the floor-and then Zherdev’s chest was pressed against his back, breath hot against his ear.
“Did you like me fucking your mouth, my little Soviet whore?”
“Fuck you,” Sergei snarled, jerking away. His cheeks burned but he still had some sense of pride, dammit. Zherdev laughed and the rope around Sergei’s throat tightened as the rebel tugged, dragging him backwards, arcing his back and his neck until Sergei’s head rested on his shoulder and he could glare up into amused grey eyes. Zherdev’s fingers curled in his hair while the other slipped around his waist-to tug at the front of his pants.
“You are not in any position to make requests,” Zherdev chided mockingly, pulling down Sergei’s zipper and slipping the button of his fly open. “In fact, I would have to say you are in the perfect position for being fucked yourself. Besides…” the rebel cupped him through his briefs and Sergei inhaled a sharp breath at that spare touch, bringing a smirk to Zherdev’s lips, “…I think you enjoyed it very much.”
“Fuck you,” Sergei whispered, his voice weak and strained. He already felt humiliated enough that he was reacting to such a situation, and as Zherdev rubbed him through the thin cloth he couldn’t help but moan, biting hard on his bottom lip at the sound. The smallest attention to his cock had pleasure throbbing through him; he was wet, aching with need-and his captor was reveling in the fact.
“So hot,” Zherdev breathed, mouthing Sergei’s neck, placing incongruously gentle kisses against his skin. His hand continued to work its devious magic as it slipped beneath the cotton undergarment to stroke Sergei’s bare flesh, teasing and touching until he was rocking his hips reflexively; whimpering, moaning, arching his back and thrusting into the rebel’s hand like a whore-but it felt too damn good for him to want to stop.
“So hungry…” Zherdev continued softly, tenderly nuzzling his neck. His hand left Sergei’s hair to drop down to his waist, working his pants and briefs down to his knees; stroking the bared skin of his hips and ass. When his fingertip rubbed over that innocuous little pucker Sergei whined incoherently, the sound pathetically needy as he pressed back, wanting, willing; so far lost that he didn’t care about his actions anymore. He gulped in air like a drowning man, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his trembling body against his captor’s.
Fingers pressed against his lips. Knowing what was coming, Sergei swallowed hard before opening his mouth, letting Zherdev’s fingers slip inside. The Ukrainian growled in appreciation as he sucked on the slim digits, laving them with his tongue, wetting them as thoroughly as possible before they were pulled away. He moaned as they returned to his entrance, stroking and rubbing and driving him absolutely mad with those feather-light touches combined with the steady but too-slow stroking of his cock, enough that he was panting, keening, writhing in his captor’s grip; his nerves on fire in anticipation and need.
“P-please,” he whispered hoarsely, trying futilely to press backward. The words spilled from his lips desperately, incoherently. “Please…”
“Please what, Sergei?” Zherdev murmured, mouthing his neck, his smile pressed against his skin. “Tell me.”
Sergei moaned shakily.
“Please-please, fuck me…take me, please…”
Zherdev hissed his satisfaction, sinking his teeth into Sergei’s shoulder-two fingers pressing abruptly inside of him. He let out a throaty cry, pain and pleasure both lancing through his body, catching him on a trembling plateau of ache and ecstasy and the world dimmed as Zherdev stroked his fingers inside of him, stretching him, fucking him, turning him into naught but a boneless mess of shaky pleasure as the entirety of his being narrowed to the connection he had with his captor.
“You beg so prettily, Sergei,” Zherdev whispered, hot against his neck. He pulled his fingers away and Sergei whimpered for the loss, biting down on his lip as the rebel kissed his ear.
“Can you scream for me, too?”
With only that as a warning Zherdev pressed into him inexorably, sheathing himself to the hilt in a single thrust. And Sergei did, he screamed-he threw his head back and his body stiffened and he let out a howl that ricocheted off the concrete walls. Slicked only by spit, just a spare amount of precum smoothing the entry, it was red agony that burst behind his eyes; white pleasure following immediately after as Zherdev pressed against his prostate. The juxtaposition of sensations had Sergei’s head swimming, the world swimming, and he whimpered incoherently as the rebel nuzzled his cheek.
“Shhh,” Zherdev soothed, breath soft against his ear. “Shh.”
He traced the curve of Sergei’s ear with his tongue, rolling his hips gently. The easy movements adjusted the bound Russian to his captor’s length gradually, leisurely; the pain slowly lessening to a dull ache that shifted right into pleasure as Sergei found his head falling back to rest against Zherdev’s shoulder, gasping quietly for breath. The pipes that ran under the floor of the room above were clearly visible here and he stared at them, wide-eyed, only vaguely comprehending his surroundings as a sharp thrust brought a cry to his lips and fire to his veins; his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open in pure ecstasy as Zherdev quickened his pace.
The moans that spilled from Sergei’s lips played a husky counterpart to his captor’s rasping gasps, and it wasn’t long until he was tensing up, his nerves overloaded with pleasure from the lengthy, torturous teasing. Zherdev inside of him, hitting all the right places, and his hand stroking hard and tight around his cock brought him to the edge in no time at all, and he almost heard the blood pounding through his veins as he felt his orgasm near.
“Come for me, Sergei,” Zherdev whispered throatily, his voice tense and breathy and fairly dripping lust. “Come…”
With a hoarse shout Sergei jerked in Zherdev’s grasp once, twice, his body spasming violently as he orgasmed. His vision exploded in a haze of white and he felt Zherdev stroking him through it all, milking every last drop from him, growling in satisfaction as he came inside of him. The continued touches wrung spastic shivers from his body, the sensitivity of his flesh almost too much to bear; and when Zherdev finally let go pulling out of him, he swayed dangerously, his limbs feeling like jelly, before toppling to the side. Zherdev seemed to follow his example, sprawling on the cool concrete, the both of them gasping for air. It took a while for the world to reestablish itself in solid forms and for his breath to even out, but after some time Sergei tugged at the ropes tying his wrists together, making a soft noise of complaint.
With effort, the groggy Ukrainian rolled over and fumbled with Sergei’s bonds, moving quickly to release the ropes that dug into his skin, pulling the lead from his neck. He combed his fingers through sweat-matted blond hair, grey eyes searching pale blue.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, stroking Sergei’s cheek.
Sergei smiled and nodded, closing his eyes. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight against a firm chest, and he rested his head against that strong, comforting presence.
“It wasn’t too much?” Nikolai insisted with concern lacing his voice. But Sergei merely chuckled, sliding an arm around his lover’s neck and tucking his cheek against the sloping curve of his collarbone. His wrists ached, the rope burning angry red imprints against his pale skin, but the pain was just a dull twinge compared to the pleasant glow of satiety warming his body.
“I’m fine, Nikky. It was-good.” A grin curled his lips. “It was damn good.”
“I didn’t hurt-”
Sergei reached up to press a finger against Nikolai’s mouth, stemming his questions, smiling gently.
“Love you,” he murmured. Nikolai’s eyes softened, and that seemed to be enough for him because he quieted, just holding his lover close. But the basement floor wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to be, and after a while he stood up with Sergei in his arms-ignoring the half-formed mumbled protests of ‘I can walk..’-and carried him up the stairs, to their bedroom, laying him gently in bed. Sergei blinked up at him with sleepy eyes as he pulled off the rest of his clothes, tugging Sergei’s off as well before slipping beneath the covers, pulling him close. Sergei tucked his face against Nikolai’s shoulder, slipping an arm around his waist and nestling close against his body, sighing contently.
Nikolai kissed his forehead tenderly.
“And I love you, my sweet captor.”
-
Sergei’s knees ached as they pressed against the unforgiving concrete floor, pinned beneath him as he knelt. The air in the basement room was stale, chill, raising goosebumps on his bare arms and prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. His wrists were trapped behind him with a length of rope, the rough hemp scratching at his skin, at his neck, a lead dangling down his back available to his captor at any time should he desire some cruel way to drag him around. The beret he wore with its marking-damning-symbols of allegiance fell skewed over his right eye, his head tilted down toward the floor and his jaw clenched in stubborn silence, back defiantly straight.
A hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked.
“Jumpy, are we?” his captor murmured, amusement in his voice. Sergei scowled as the young man walked around him, raising his gaze to meet one enigmatically gray. The Ukrainian rebel was tall and dark, his features striking, lean body clothed in the scruffy attire typical of the oft-ragtag resistance fighters. Sergei narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not telling you anything,” he said sharply, preempting any attempts of interrogation. The Ukrainian-Zherdev, his name was Zherdev, Sergei remembered it being shouted during his capture-just offered him an easy smile, shrugging his shoulders casually.
“It doesn’t matter. Your companions have already told us enough. Or should I call them your command…Colonel Sergei Fedorov?”
Shit.
Sergei looked away at the revelation of the knowledge of his identity and rank, much to his captor’s delight. Zherdev reached out and placed his fingers beneath Sergei’s chin, tilting his head up; meeting the Russian’s incensed glare.
“How many people have you killed, Soviet?” he whispered.
His voice was soft, dangerously soft, dangerously intense-but still Sergei was surprised when knuckles cracked hard across his mouth.
“How many innocent lives have you taken?” Zherdev hissed as Sergei blinked away the stars in his vision, snatching the beret from his head, fingers clenching in the black material. Sergei watched fixedly as the identifying red star with its image of hammer and sickle was ripped from the cap and hurled to the corner of the room. The next instant fingers clenched in his hair, jerking his head back with a painful snap in order that furious grey eyes could meet his gaze.
“How many?” Zherdev demanded.
“No innocents,” Sergei rasped, his voice constricted with the pressure put on his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. “Never innocents.”
“You don’t know that,” Zherdev spat, curling his lip in disgust. He dropped Sergei’s head and stalked across the room, pacing back and forth like a caged panther, prowling in front of him. His movements were graceful and catlike and Sergei found himself unwillingly mesmerized, watching the feral creature that held his life in his hands. He kept silent and at length Zherdev stilled, his back facing Sergei, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Bullets are not selective, Soviet,” he said softly.
Who did you lose? Sergei wondered. Who was taken from you? A parent, a sibling? A friend? A lover?
The sympathy he felt was startling, and Sergei shook himself from the emotion.
Feel no empathy for the enemy.
“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly. He kept his tone level and firm, and it seemed to shake Zherdev out of his mood. The rebel turned with an eyebrow arched and his lips curled in a smirk, grey gaze cool and calculating once more.
“What can you offer me?” he challenged, sauntering back over. Sergei caught his breath at the heated look in his captor’s eyes, something hot and tight coiling in his gut.
“I have nothing to give,” he replied softly. His voice came out raspy, hoarse, and inwardly he cursed himself for showing such weakness in front of an enemy. Zherdev’s smile widened, and Sergei looked away with his cheeks burning in humiliation.
“Just kill me now and get it over with,” he said lowly, ducking his head. “You already know everything, and I can’t be used as a hostage. There is no reason for you to keep me alive. I’m useless to you.”
“Is that so?” Zherdev mused. He came to a stop right in front of Sergei, his boots encroaching on the bound Russian’s vision, and Sergei looked up in surprise at his captor’s proximity. Zherdev raised a hand and he flinched away, expecting a blow-only to be further bewildered as a calloused palm cupped his cheek, gracefully long fingers sliding into his hair. He lifted wide eyes to meet the rebel Ukrainian’s as his head was tilted back, a thumb smoothing across his cheek in an intimate caress.
Zherdev’s grey eyes had darkened to nearly black, and the look in his eyes was burning and unmistakable.
Sergei threw himself backward with a hoarse cry. He landed hard on his tailbone, pain jolting through him and his arms pinned beneath his body as he stared at the still-amused rebel in horror.
“I’m not-I’m not, you can’t-”
Zherdev laughed and moved forward, and despite Sergei’s efforts to scramble backward he was well and caught, Zherdev leaning down and curling his fingers around the makeshift collar encircling his neck, boots on either side of Sergei’s hips. He yanked up and Sergei choked, the rough hemp tightening around his throat constricting his air and forcing him to move with his captor’s hand; unable to breathe until he managed to struggle back onto his knees and shuffle forward as Zherdev took a few steps back, barely able to push himself up with his arms so tightly bound. When the pressure released he gasped desperately for air, his body meekly limp as he rested his forehead against Zherdev’s thigh, feeling the man’s hand rest on his head.
“I can do a lot of things, Sergei,” the rebel said softly, stroking his fingers almost tenderly through Sergei’s hair. “A lot of things to you. And you can’t do anything to stop me; do you understand this?”
Sergei shivered and nodded, not daring to look up. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he found himself inexplicably hardening at being so thoroughly-so easily-dominated by this slip of a boy; this boy playing war. He knew what he got off on, knew what he liked, but never did he think that in such a circumstance…
Zherdev cupped Sergei’s head in his palm, pressing insistently against his temple, guiding him between his legs. He felt his heartbeat escalate as his nose pressed against the rebel’s crotch, brushing over the zipper of his pants. At Zherdev’s wordless command he nuzzled him, hesitantly, rubbing his cheek against him as his eyes fluttered shut, feeling his growing arousal through the worn camo pants. He parted his lips to mouth him through the material, which soaked his saliva, drying his mouth, but still he continued-sucking softly, rubbing his cheek against him, closing his lips as far around his girth as was possible. He felt the shudder run through Zherdev’s body, heard the quiet moan that the rebel tried but failed to stifle; and the reactions, so uncontrolled, so wanting, coming from this man that had him under his control… The fact he held such a sway over his captor brought a curling grin to Sergei’s lips, the subtle turn of power delighting him to no uncertain degree.
“Ah…christ…”
Sergei opened his eyes, looking up from beneath lowered lashes. Zherdev’s eyes were midnight black, intense and wild, burning into him. His chest was heaving and Sergei kept their gazes locked together even as he continued his limited ministrations. Zherdev groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tightening in Sergei’s hair-and then abruptly yanking him away. Swearing incoherently, the Ukrainian pulled his head away with one hand while the other fumbled at his belt, pulling it open, undoing the button of his fly and pulling down the zipper hastily. His body shook with suppressed want and his hands shook with eagerness; and Sergei smirked, wickedly and to himself.
Zherdev pressed the tip of his cock urgently against his lips and Sergei parted them without question, lost in a haze of lust and a power trip unlike anything else. The threat of punishment if he stopped was now only a distant concern on his mind. This had stopped being about force and had become about being in control, about losing control; about the way he was making Zherdev whimper softly, gasp quietly, moan and thrust helplessly into his mouth. His captor’s fingers were slack in pleasure, only loosely curled in his hair, and it allowed him more leave to control the pace; to wrap his lips in a tight ring around the base of his cock, to bob up and down as fast or slow as he wanted; to pull away a little and tease the head with just the tip of his tongue, splaying flat against the weeping slit and making Zherdev cry out hoarsely and spasm beneath his touch.
“Fuck…oh fuck…oh god…”
The rebel was fast losing it, his legs trembling, his eyes tightly shut; his mouth open slack in ecstasy. Sergei watched him-watched him arch on his toes, watched him pant for air; watched him bite his lip as he sought not to come in order to experience the pleasure longer. Zherdev was beautiful, darkly and exotically beautiful, wild and untamed…
Reality struck, and Sergei froze.
I’m still his prisoner. I shouldn’t be-
But then Zherdev was coming with a hoarse cry and Sergei, unprepared, gagged as he buried himself deep in his mouth. The blunt tip of his cock hit the back of his throat and he sought desperately to swallow, choking, tears springing to his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Zherdev pulled away a little and what was left slid across Sergei’s tongue, his lips, trickling from his mouth as he slumped forward in order to gasp for air, his chest heaving as he sucked in oxygen. He was barely aware of Zherdev’s hands on his shoulders, flexing in the material of his shirt; the feeling oddly comforting as the rebel himself struggled to regain his composure even as Sergei coughed feebly, his head bowed.
Fingers tucked beneath his chin and tilted his head up and Zherdev was kneeling down, and the next instant his lips were moving across Sergei’s flesh-his tongue dragging a hot line over his mouth, his chin, his neck; lapping at the cum that streaked his skin. He returned with a growl to Sergei’s mouth, his tongue forcing its way hungrily past his lips, and Sergei moaned a little, whimpered a little; melted a little under that erotic onslaught before finally collecting himself enough to tear away.
He knelt there, his knees aching, staring at the ground, breathing heavily, his shoulders hunched as he waited for what Zherdev would do. But after a short, tense silence the rebel chuckled and raised his hand, rubbing his knuckles against Sergei’s cheek. He flinched but didn’t try to draw away, fearing a blow if he were to do so. Those long fingers curled around his throat, just resting against his skin-not tightening, just there, but even so, his heart started pounding in trepidation.
“Did you like that, Sergei?” Zherdev purred, stroking his fingers across Sergei’s throat; walking around him, out of sight. There was the sound of cloth rustling, falling to the floor-and then Zherdev’s chest was pressed against his back, breath hot against his ear.
“Did you like me fucking your mouth, my little Soviet whore?”
“Fuck you,” Sergei snarled, jerking away. His cheeks burned but he still had some sense of pride, dammit. Zherdev laughed and the rope around Sergei’s throat tightened as the rebel tugged, dragging him backwards, arcing his back and his neck until Sergei’s head rested on his shoulder and he could glare up into amused grey eyes. Zherdev’s fingers curled in his hair while the other slipped around his waist-to tug at the front of his pants.
“You are not in any position to make requests,” Zherdev chided mockingly, pulling down Sergei’s zipper and slipping the button of his fly open. “In fact, I would have to say you are in the perfect position for being fucked yourself. Besides…” the rebel cupped him through his briefs and Sergei inhaled a sharp breath at that spare touch, bringing a smirk to Zherdev’s lips, “…I think you enjoyed it very much.”
“Fuck you,” Sergei whispered, his voice weak and strained. He already felt humiliated enough that he was reacting to such a situation, and as Zherdev rubbed him through the thin cloth he couldn’t help but moan, biting hard on his bottom lip at the sound. The smallest attention to his cock had pleasure throbbing through him; he was wet, aching with need-and his captor was reveling in the fact.
“So hot,” Zherdev breathed, mouthing Sergei’s neck, placing incongruously gentle kisses against his skin. His hand continued to work its devious magic as it slipped beneath the cotton undergarment to stroke Sergei’s bare flesh, teasing and touching until he was rocking his hips reflexively; whimpering, moaning, arching his back and thrusting into the rebel’s hand like a whore-but it felt too damn good for him to want to stop.
“So hungry…” Zherdev continued softly, tenderly nuzzling his neck. His hand left Sergei’s hair to drop down to his waist, working his pants and briefs down to his knees; stroking the bared skin of his hips and ass. When his fingertip rubbed over that innocuous little pucker Sergei whined incoherently, the sound pathetically needy as he pressed back, wanting, willing; so far lost that he didn’t care about his actions anymore. He gulped in air like a drowning man, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his trembling body against his captor’s.
Fingers pressed against his lips. Knowing what was coming, Sergei swallowed hard before opening his mouth, letting Zherdev’s fingers slip inside. The Ukrainian growled in appreciation as he sucked on the slim digits, laving them with his tongue, wetting them as thoroughly as possible before they were pulled away. He moaned as they returned to his entrance, stroking and rubbing and driving him absolutely mad with those feather-light touches combined with the steady but too-slow stroking of his cock, enough that he was panting, keening, writhing in his captor’s grip; his nerves on fire in anticipation and need.
“P-please,” he whispered hoarsely, trying futilely to press backward. The words spilled from his lips desperately, incoherently. “Please…”
“Please what, Sergei?” Zherdev murmured, mouthing his neck, his smile pressed against his skin. “Tell me.”
Sergei moaned shakily.
“Please-please, fuck me…take me, please…”
Zherdev hissed his satisfaction, sinking his teeth into Sergei’s shoulder-two fingers pressing abruptly inside of him. He let out a throaty cry, pain and pleasure both lancing through his body, catching him on a trembling plateau of ache and ecstasy and the world dimmed as Zherdev stroked his fingers inside of him, stretching him, fucking him, turning him into naught but a boneless mess of shaky pleasure as the entirety of his being narrowed to the connection he had with his captor.
“You beg so prettily, Sergei,” Zherdev whispered, hot against his neck. He pulled his fingers away and Sergei whimpered for the loss, biting down on his lip as the rebel kissed his ear.
“Can you scream for me, too?”
With only that as a warning Zherdev pressed into him inexorably, sheathing himself to the hilt in a single thrust. And Sergei did, he screamed-he threw his head back and his body stiffened and he let out a howl that ricocheted off the concrete walls. Slicked only by spit, just a spare amount of precum smoothing the entry, it was red agony that burst behind his eyes; white pleasure following immediately after as Zherdev pressed against his prostate. The juxtaposition of sensations had Sergei’s head swimming, the world swimming, and he whimpered incoherently as the rebel nuzzled his cheek.
“Shhh,” Zherdev soothed, breath soft against his ear. “Shh.”
He traced the curve of Sergei’s ear with his tongue, rolling his hips gently. The easy movements adjusted the bound Russian to his captor’s length gradually, leisurely; the pain slowly lessening to a dull ache that shifted right into pleasure as Sergei found his head falling back to rest against Zherdev’s shoulder, gasping quietly for breath. The pipes that ran under the floor of the room above were clearly visible here and he stared at them, wide-eyed, only vaguely comprehending his surroundings as a sharp thrust brought a cry to his lips and fire to his veins; his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open in pure ecstasy as Zherdev quickened his pace.
The moans that spilled from Sergei’s lips played a husky counterpart to his captor’s rasping gasps, and it wasn’t long until he was tensing up, his nerves overloaded with pleasure from the lengthy, torturous teasing. Zherdev inside of him, hitting all the right places, and his hand stroking hard and tight around his cock brought him to the edge in no time at all, and he almost heard the blood pounding through his veins as he felt his orgasm near.
“Come for me, Sergei,” Zherdev whispered throatily, his voice tense and breathy and fairly dripping lust. “Come…”
With a hoarse shout Sergei jerked in Zherdev’s grasp once, twice, his body spasming violently as he orgasmed. His vision exploded in a haze of white and he felt Zherdev stroking him through it all, milking every last drop from him, growling in satisfaction as he came inside of him. The continued touches wrung spastic shivers from his body, the sensitivity of his flesh almost too much to bear; and when Zherdev finally let go pulling out of him, he swayed dangerously, his limbs feeling like jelly, before toppling to the side. Zherdev seemed to follow his example, sprawling on the cool concrete, the both of them gasping for air. It took a while for the world to reestablish itself in solid forms and for his breath to even out, but after some time Sergei tugged at the ropes tying his wrists together, making a soft noise of complaint.
With effort, the groggy Ukrainian rolled over and fumbled with Sergei’s bonds, moving quickly to release the ropes that dug into his skin, pulling the lead from his neck. He combed his fingers through sweat-matted blond hair, grey eyes searching pale blue.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, stroking Sergei’s cheek.
Sergei smiled and nodded, closing his eyes. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight against a firm chest, and he rested his head against that strong, comforting presence.
“It wasn’t too much?” Nikolai insisted with concern lacing his voice. But Sergei merely chuckled, sliding an arm around his lover’s neck and tucking his cheek against the sloping curve of his collarbone. His wrists ached, the rope burning angry red imprints against his pale skin, but the pain was just a dull twinge compared to the pleasant glow of satiety warming his body.
“I’m fine, Nikky. It was-good.” A grin curled his lips. “It was damn good.”
“I didn’t hurt-”
Sergei reached up to press a finger against Nikolai’s mouth, stemming his questions, smiling gently.
“Love you,” he murmured. Nikolai’s eyes softened, and that seemed to be enough for him because he quieted, just holding his lover close. But the basement floor wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to be, and after a while he stood up with Sergei in his arms-ignoring the half-formed mumbled protests of ‘I can walk..’-and carried him up the stairs, to their bedroom, laying him gently in bed. Sergei blinked up at him with sleepy eyes as he pulled off the rest of his clothes, tugging Sergei’s off as well before slipping beneath the covers, pulling him close. Sergei tucked his face against Nikolai’s shoulder, slipping an arm around his waist and nestling close against his body, sighing contently.
Nikolai kissed his forehead tenderly.
“And I love you, my sweet captor.”
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