JUST KEEP QUIET
A/N – finally inspired to write this short one-shot for my fellow BulRo shipper Republic of Yolossia. Hopefully this drama-filled piece is up to expectations ;)
Bulgaria – Tsvetan Borisov
Romania – Alin Radacanu
Norway – Lukas Bondevik
Warnings: some dub-con, underage, nsfw
Tsvetan is not the type who's interested in meaningless affairs, he's never been. Quite on the contrary - his reason barges in even now - he would very much like a stable, lasting relationship (pretty much like most people, he figures…?). But why can't his reason let him enjoy this moment, why can't his nagging mind just shut the hell up for once and let more basic cravings take over?
Because – his reason duly reminds him - this thing about to happen now would have never, ever, ever fucking happened unless Tsvetan hadn't seen something he wasn't supposed to see.
The door opens soundlessly, just like everything else Alin does. At times Tsvetan could swear the boy is no more than a ghostly presence haunting his uncle's enormous mansion. There is a tiny bit of uncertainty in his light steps as he walks up to the small bed where the Bulgarian is seated, gaze carefully averted because he can't fully overcome his inborn shyness, he never can.
A short while after he starts working as a butler in Nicolae Radacanu's household to cover some of his school expenses, Tsvetan realizes several things, among which the fact that the eccentric Romanian business man is a very odd and possibly dangerous fellow and that his overly quiet and somewhat nerdish nephew Alin is someone he could very easily lose his mind over.
Only Alin and his two equally gorgeous and weird friends are way out of his league, and then there are the rumors at school about the so-called Magic Club, more specifically about the sort of high-end magic they're occasionally performing for those who can afford it.
But Tsvetan doesn't believe any of this until one day when he forgets about one of Mr. Radacanu's rules and enters the library to wipe the dust, even if the door is closed and the ornate brass key is resting in the lock. The first thing he sees is Lukas's denim school bag lying onto the Persian rug, carelessly discarded along with his boss's expensive silk tie and suit jacket. He recklessly takes a few more steps forward – maybe subconsciously seeking to infirm his sudden suspicions – and gets close enough to hear the man's voice whispering sweet nothings between satisfied pants while the Norwegian chuckles softly. Tsvetan does not need to actually lay eyes on the couple hidden by the high backrest of the couch to put two and two together and retreats hastily, hopefully as silently as he'd entered.
At the time he thinks he's passed unobserved, but the next day Mr. Radacanu watches him intently and there is something hard and warning in his gaze as Tsvetan pours his morning coffee. And he can't help but feel dread while wondering what's going to happen now, not that he would actually tell anyone that his boss is sleeping with an underage kid.
Alin's gaze is fixed upon his plate in his usual awkward manner as he lazily pushes his breakfast around, but there is a new tension in his fragile shoulders and when he at last looks up there is a silent plea in his large, ruby-colored eyes, as if he begs to be saved. They stare at each other a moment too long, a thing which does not go unnoticed, for the uncle leans in and whispers something in the strawberry blond's ear the second Tsvetan turns around to the meal cart.
Later, as he is wiping the dust in the now (thankfully) deserted library, Tsvetan is suddenly aware of being observed and turns to see the Romanian half-hidden by the doorframe, a stack of books in his arms as he's watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Pffttt… you need to stop creeping up on people like that," the Bulgarian says, because he was never asked to respect etiquette with his boss's nephew and because he secretly enjoys bugging Alin whenever he can (seeing how he's in no position to do anything else).
The strawberry blond clutches his books harder and visibly struggles for something to say in return, much to Tsvetan's amusement. Which is in itself unusual, because he hardly ever pays the butler any attention and barely bothers to reply to his often biting remarks. Yet when Alin takes a few steps further - still saying nothing – until he's standing right in front of the other and the dainty, black-nailed fingers of his free hand travel up Tsvetan's arm, over the expanse of skin left bare by the rolled-up sleeves of the dark-haired boy's dress shirt, ever-so-slowly and infinitely teasing, the Bulgarian figures that something's changed and knows what.
Mr. Radacanu wants to make sure that he won't talk.
For some reason, the realization mortifies and disgusts Tsvetan far more than the previous discovery – maybe because this is about Alin – but the Romanian is a sweet poison he can't resist, even when he knows that he's being played and that everything is a fucking lie. His hands move with a will of their own, dropping the dust wiper and capturing the other's, such that Alin's books tumble to the floor as the blond is pushed roughly against the shelves and Tsvetan crushes his mouth with his own. And the blond is neither opposing nor eager, he's simply allowing it in an obedient sort of fashion he seems to be accustomed with.
Tsvetan knows, he catches every single detail, but he chooses not to care. In the end, why would he? His hungry lips make their way along the Romanian's jaw line, nip his pierced lobe before moving down on his pale neck. He seeks to touch more, taste more, but suddenly Alin pulls back and presses his hand against the Bulgarian's mouth to halt his assault.
"Not here, for fuck's sake! Later…" he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper which sends a pleasant shiver down the other's spine.
Tsvetan cheekily bites the tips of the blond's fingers in reply, holding his shy gaze with green eyes darkened with lust. "Later…"
The Bulgarian's bedroom is small and has only one minuscule window, it's a simple servant's quarter sunken in semi-obscurity. There's a lamp on the nightstand, but he won't switch it on, the pale moonlight is enough to discern the slender frame of Alin, dressed in a light undershirt and nondescript sweatpants.
The blond walks up to where Tsvetan is seated, faltering the slightest bit before he straddles his lap and lifts his chin with a cool hand.
"Alin, you don't need to do this…" Tsvetan says, because he realizes that he would rather burn in the flames of this unrequited want until it consumes him entirely before he forces himself on the precious boy in his arms and lets him believe that he's no better than his uncle and anyone else who might have taken advantage of him.
"I need you to just keep quiet."
And those are the only words the strawberry blond speaks.
His soft lips brush against the dark-haired boy's teasingly while his hand trails down the Bulgarian's shirt, all the way to the hem and then further down, fingers eventually slipping under the waistband of his boxers. Alin's hand is cold against the other's heated skin and Tsvetan's body reacts to his skilled touch almost instantly, urging him to grip the blond, turn swiftly and press him flat against the mattress. But despite his burning need he doesn't want to hurry, and for now ignores the supplies discreetly placed on the nightstand by the Romanian. Gently, he works to remove Alin's undershirt, dotting every inch of his lover's soft skin with butterfly kisses, then proceeds to discard the rest of his clothes with the same care. He wants Alin to feel some pleasure of his own – maybe for once?- to have him writhe and moan underneath him not because he's supposed to but because he can't help himself.
He is rewarded when the strawberry blond's fingers helplessly crease the sheets and eventually grip his hair while Tsvetan eats him whole. There is a sinful flavor etched into Alin's body which he craves, is nearly desperate to consume, all the more since he is allowed only one mouthful. The Bulgarian smiles against the other's skin when shy fingers trace his biceps and the muscles of his back, exploring and dipping into every crevice, as if to commit his body to memory.
He drinks in Alin's delightful moans as his back rises and falls rhythmically, buried in the tight heat. It's not long before he decides to turn the blond around face-down to better hit his sweet spot, hungrily biting into his shoulders and the back of his neck as he feels his climax near.
Afterwards, Tsvetan carefully pulls the covers over the Romanian – who has fallen asleep- and lies on his side, facing his lover and brushing his knuckles over the pale cheek. He cannot hope of anything more than this night, because he is simply a butler and otherwise a kid of little means, and he cannot protect Alin from his uncle, or deliver him from the unspoken horrors of this large, cold house.
And his heart breaks, because he knows that all there will ever be between him and the beautiful blond sleeping next to him is silence.
THE END