Title: Russian roulette
Fandom: Eastern Promises
Pairing: Kirill/Soyka
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Wish I owned the boys, but no. Just playing with them.
Summary: Those feelings are forgotten, dismissed in the night, although they always double back in the morning and hit me like a ten ton truck.
Author's note: So this is very different to the scenario I did in Sick, but it just sort of pounced on me and demanded I write it. You know how it is.
He's teaching me how to be wrong. His every touch is a lesson, every lingering gaze, every promise he makes and then fulfills with his mouth. And I surrender, and I learn from him, how to delve deeper into darkness, disintegration. I follow as he leads. He makes sure there's no room for thoughts, nothing at all between us, nothing but the present. And every time, he fills me up, with purpose – to succumb, no orders given, no duties to execute – with him, I don't have to be anything but attentive.
This shouldn't be happening, and neither of us remembers how it began, but there it is. It's a game, one you don't back out of – no holds barred, a game played right on the brink of destruction. We're waiting to see if we fall. Or rather, who falls first. As his fingers trail down my chest, outlining the symbols and text etched into my skin, they're cold like steel, like the barrel of a gun, and he looks into my eyes, grinning – will I take him on? – he already knows the answer: yes, yes, oh God, yes… he spells out his response to my submission with his tongue.
And this is a lesson, in itself, a lesson learned the hard way: that while in the day I am what I should be, more or less, while I strive to keep up appearances, at night I am nothing but wrong, nothing but his; and although I know what I should feel – disgust, self-loathing, revulsion – he manages to sweep me free of guilt, of anything resembling healthy feelings in the face of this depravity… this sin… those feelings are forgotten, dismissed in the night, although they always double back in the morning and hit me like a ten ton truck. And then, all day I walk around feeling like a ghost; I am unable to grant the people around me what they ask of me, I can't even act like they want me to… I know I'm pathetic, useless, I can see it in their eyes, and when no one's around I'm shaking like a fucking junkiebitch, deprived of the only thing that in the moment at least makes sense. But when I come to him, when I crawl in through his door, he opens his arms to me and he never asks why I'm shaking, just takes me in.
But I lied. Of course there is something between us, something we both feel, something we can't eradicate but choose to ignore: the presence of a threat, a gun with the safety off, that's what's between us, and we're still playing the game, risking everything. Knowing, of course, one day one of us will pull the trigger, betray us both. But how can I worry about that when he has me locked in an unyielding grip, muttering against my neck, take your clothes off, and don't say anything…
He's teaching me how to be wrong, and when I come in his mouth, when he's licking me clean and I'm falling asleep with his hand as by coincidence placed on my chest, that invisible gun under my pillow, it's with a conviction that is true to me only in that moment, and denied the second I walk out on him in the morning: that being wrong is better than being nothing at all.