I wish I had an angel
For one moment of love
I wish I had your angel
Your Virgin Mary undone
I'm in love with my lust
Burning angelwings to dust
I wish I had your angel tonight
-Nightwish, Wish I had an Angel
Desire is pulsing through him as he turns away, filling him with liquid fire. Once he has made it around the corner he stumbles, leans against the wall, fights for air like a drowning man. His breathing is laboured, just as if it were him who had performed the act just now, not Nikolai.
Nikolai. God, Nikolai.
His chest is heaving, and his thoughts are spiralling madly in his head. He does not stand still because he has himself under control, but because he is so out of control he cannot even move a limb without concentrating at the moment.
Damn that alcohol.
No. There's more. There's so much more…
Kirill is unable to put a name to what it is that he feels. Lust, yes, a deep, strong lust at having witnessed what Nikolai has just done with that little blond thing, but at the same time, something else, something that is roaring inside him, a screaming creature, a mad, ravaging beast…
He wants to storm back in, to press the girl down on the bed, pin her under him, and have his way with her, find the satisfaction he so desperately craves while Nikolai stands beside him, watching.
He wants to see Nikolai filled with desire anew as he is forced to watch how he finds his release, how he in turn collapses over the girl, satisfied, while it is Nikolai who once again yearns for satisfaction…
It could go on forever like that.
And all he needs is a moment, just a brief moment, nothing more…
And all of eternity for Nikolai, an eternity of yearning and never finding what he so desperately longs for, never, for refusing what Kirill has offered him initially. Damn you, I made myself vulnerable to you, and you did not care. You simply could have a slut, you ungrateful son of a bitch. We could have had her together. We could have…
But no, I was a fool, a goddamn idiot!
He clenches his teeth, drawing a sharp breath with a hiss like a serpent's, and it is an angry serpent that is coiled inside him, coiled like a spring, coiled so tightly it will burst and tear him to pieces, rip him to shreds, destroy him…
And he craves this moment of black oblivion, the never-ending fall into a gaping maw of nothingness…
He curses the alcohol for bedazzling his senses, for enhancing the rush of liquid flame that burns up every conscious thought. For today he has had enough of it. He is sick of it. And it does not matter to him. There is only one desire that remains…
He pushes himself away from the wall. At first everything sways around him, heaving like on a ship borne on wild waves, but he keeps himself steady, and the sensation fades as quickly as it has come. What does not change is his desperate lust, the lust that drives him forward.
Returning to the girls' room, where they now sit together and chatter, all except one, which probably is somewhere with Sergei, Kirill gestures to pretty little Sonya, and she understands. She always does. He has had her before, and she is willing and eager to please. She takes his hand, looking up at him through her long dark lashes, and leads him to a room across the corridor, where she gently nudges him to sit down on the bed.
He cannot quite stifle the moan that escapes his throat, and she smiles up at him as she hears it, from her kneeling position between his legs. Kneeling like a slave before her master. She pulls down his zipper and reaches inside, but he stops her by placing a hand on her wrist, doing his best not to squash it in his wild, unsated desire, because in truth he wants to be touched there, yearns for it so much it nearly turns to pain. "No, not just that." His own voice sounds ragged and breathless in his ears. "The whole thing." Yes, he could let her use her lips and tongue on him, like she has done it before once when he was burning for a quick release, but he wants more.
She nods and unbuckles his belt, but once again he stops her. "Shirt first. Do it properly."
Immediately she complies, crawls onto the bed behind him and helps him out of his already unbuttoned shirt, caressing his exposed skin as she does so. By now she knows what he likes, and the next time she probably will start with stripping him to the waist of her own accord. After all, she is a quick learner once she has been told explicitly. There is no need for punishment of any kind.
He briefly wonders why Nikolai kept his shirt on. He never does that himself. He keeps his trousers on sometimes, with just the fly open, but never his shirt. He would feel foolish that way, without his trousers but in a shirt, and he hates that feeling. He wants to be in control.
Just like he was in control of those two just now, Nikolai and the little bitch. The thought sends another jolt of lust through him, and he growls with pleasure as Sonya's hands wander over his bare torso. I had you, Nikolai, he thinks and grins at the thought. Serves you right for refusing to share a girl with me, you git, you… Man, Kolya, I just had you.
You sicko, he tells himself. You fucking queer. But he cannot drive the image of Nikolai out of his mind, Nikolai with his shirt hanging open and his trousers down, thrusting into the girl with abandon.
Maybe it is better Nikolai has not accepted his initial offer, or else, who knows what might have happened?
Still, why did that fucking jerk refuse? Why? He has offered to share a girl with him, which was an obvious gesture of friendship and trust! Nikolai, you fucking ungrateful bastard! You could even have picked the girl, what more do you want?
But I made you. I showed you the consequences. You had no choice, you had to take her in front of me, no display of friendship anymore, but of who's in charge… and that's still me, whatever you think…
He needs it now, needs Sonya under him on her back, or his desire will surely drive him mad and fill him with more of those images he is unable to banish from his mind. "Hurry up," he tells her through clenched teeth, and she opens his trousers, while he tries to get her out of her little pink jacket at the same time. What is this thing, he thinks, fishnet stockings made into another piece of clothing? But what does he care? He gets up from the bed and manages to remove the jacket before she has any time to pull his trousers down. Silly girl, it won't work that way! He kicks his shoes off and starts at her short dress, and she lets go of his trousers, which fall down to his ankles, to let him undress her. As her head emerges from the brown, orange and white fabric, she is actually smiling. Discarding the dress carelessly, he pulls her to him, nudging her chin up, and kisses her neck greedily, her skin smooth and warm beneath his hands as he undoes the fastenings of her gold-coloured bra, before he pushes her away once more as he pulls it off her and steps out of his trousers at the same time. He lets himself fall back onto the bed, and she kneels down to remove his socks before she comes to join him, wearing nothing but her pink panties now, and her high-heeled shoes, which he snatches off her feet to throw them aside, her socks to follow immediately. She lets him, then crawls over him and leans down to kiss him, and he does her the favour of allowing her tongue to play with his for a bit, despite feeling like he is going to burst out of his boxers. But he wants her to be ready for him, ready to contain him…
Watch this, Nikolai. Come on and watch this.
He turns Sonya onto her back and drags her panties down, and it pleases him to feel that they are a little moist. You want this, you little whore, eh? You want me, I know you want me…
At last she helps him out of his boxers. By now she knows how urgently he needs her, for she obediently spreads her legs for him without him having to tell her to do it, or to nudge them apart. He is over her at once, gratefully burying himself in her warm flesh, and she wraps her legs around his waist and clutches his shoulders, holding him tight, following his strong, swift motions willingly.
This is how he likes his women. He hates having to take them by force. He wants to be in command, yes, always in control, and even if he is letting the girl take a more active part, something he quite enjoys from time to time, he still remains in charge, but when a girl whimpers and sobs under him, he just cannot take her. It sickens him. It makes him see a child instead of a young woman, and he does not want to rape children. He is not like Soyka, that vile rapist of little girls.
His thrusts grow rougher as he thinks of Soyka and as fury boils up in him, and a brief notion of disgust at the thought of his dead body, but then he thinks of Nikolai, of Nikolai getting ready to process Soyka's remains, of Nikolai's calmness and professional elegance, his precise motions…
He ejaculates then, with this image still before his inner eye, his face hidden in Sonya's dark hair, nuzzled against the side of her neck. She strokes his back as he catches his breath, unaware of what was just going on in his mind…
You goddamn fucking pervert, he thinks as he rolls off her and stretches out on his back. You sick creature. Even thinking of Nikolai's naked body would be better than this.
And you shouldn't think of that, either.
Sonya sits up, strokes his cheek and wants to get off the bed, but he holds her back. "I'm not finished with you yet." He realises he has slipped into English once again, as so often, but it does not matter, she understands him anyway, and she curls up beside him once more, with her back against him. She always complies; she has done so every time, from the day on when he has taken her virginity.
He feels better now, definitely better, but at the same time he feels dirty for what has happened earlier on. Damn it, Nikolai, it wasn't you who made me come just now! And it also wasn't you who made me that fucking horny, either!
No, it really has not been Nikolai who has given him an orgasm, he thinks, that has happened all by itself, since he has been forcefully thrusting into Sonya, feeling it drawing nearer and nearer. But why he has been in this state in the first place…
"Any news?" he asks, willing himself to forget about it all and blaming it on the alcohol.
Sonya rolls over so that she now lies facing him, and he feels her breasts against his side. He has not even fondled them yet, it occurs to him, he has been in such a hurry to find relief from his tormenting desire. They are rather small, but they are nicely shaped, and most likely they will grow a little more. After all, Sonya is not quite sixteen yet, as far as he knows. Old enough to sleep with a man, but not entirely a grown woman yet. "Chernov was here," she informs him, stroking his chest with her right hand.
"Really? Who has he been with?" There are goose-bumps rising on her skin, he feels as he caresses her shoulder, so he sits up and pulls the blanket out from under them. He does not only do it for her; he knows that soon enough, when the thin layer of sweat coating his skin is starting to dry, he would feel the chill also.
"Olga. She says he was a bore, and clumsy." She gratefully crawls under the blanket with him, only to resume the pose she has taken just before, and he pulls the blanket up to about the middle of his stomach. Now they are peacefully lying side by side, Sonya seems relaxed enough to actually giggle. "She says even Sergei is better, and he's no good either."
He chuckles quietly, amused at this remark. "Poor Olga, having to endure boring, butt-ugly Sergei."
"Now, now. He's not ugly, actually." Sonya thoughtlessly traces the letters tattooed onto the right side of his chest with her fingertip. Fate plays with a man. "He's just… just…" She searches for appropriate words to describe the man in charge at this brothel, and Kirill knows that she will do her best to make her opinion sound as polite as possible. After all, that he has just insulted him does not necessarily mean that she may do the same. Clever girl. "You know, he just wants girls to dance for him, and then do a slow strip, and pose in nothing but stockings and shoes. High-heeled ones, of course. Olga thinks he has a bit of a weird fetish, but others say it's not that unusual."
"It's not," he confirms. "But I'm an exception to the rule."
"I know." Sonya's fingertip has wandered on to caress the star under his right collarbone. "And he always wants them to touch themselves." She starts playing with his gold necklace, and only then does he notice that he is still wearing it.
"And Olga doesn't like him," he concludes. Why have a girl touch herself when you can touch her instead? It's so much more fun.
"No," she confides. "But he favours her. She'd rather do it with Nikolai, I think, but she has never yet gotten near him. Well, he hasn't been here that often, so…"
See here, Kolya, you're popular. "I'll tell him to fuck her the next time, then," he says lightly. How powerful he feels, uttering words like these and knowing he can really do it, not merely say it! "Or both Sergei and Nikolai," he boasts. "Both at once." On the other hand, even if Sergei would obey, which is likely, but not certain, he would not want to do this to Nikolai. When Nikolai engages in a threesome at all, he definitely knows that he would be the third himself, not anyone else. He is not letting anyone near Nikolai.
And he is acting like a stupid jealous girl, he thinks angrily. "Now how about you?" he asks, to get his mind off that idiotic thing. He should never have thought of a threesome with Nikolai in the first place.
"Me, with Sergei and Nikolai at once?" She laughs at it.
"Yes, with boring, butt-ugly Sergei and boring, butt-ugly Nikolai," he teases her. He wants to hear her defend his friend, he realises, wants to hear what she thinks of him.
"Nikolai is quite good-looking," she protests, promptly doing him the favour, and he smiles up at the ceiling, as if a compliment for his driver were a compliment for him. "But I'd rather be with handsome Kirill." And she kisses the side of his neck.
His smile broadens. Of course he is aware that if she had a choice, she would not be here. She would be far away. What she is trying to do is get him to make her his private mistress, perhaps, and take her away from this place. After all, it is his father who is in charge here, and it certainly is a good move to please the son. All the same, he knows that she likes him, in a way, and if only because there hardly is anybody else she could possibly like. "And why would you choose me over Nikolai?" Come on, tell me what I have that Nikolai has not, and pray it's not because of my father!
"Because you're good," she says simply, and once again her hand wanders over his chest. She knows perfectly well that he likes this kind of caress.
He grins to himself. "Because I believe in foreplay? Normally, anyway?" And because I've given you a couple of good orgasms, as far as I know, he mentally adds. Well, I can tell. I know when it's fake. And I know you're damn horny every time I get you laid, although that probably makes you feel sick and guilty afterwards.
The thought arouses him once again, and it is a good feeling. It proves that he does not need Nikolai, that he is no queer, whatever Soyka and his kind claim.
Instead of an answer, she crawls over him and starts kissing his chest. She must have noticed his once again growing desire and knows what he wants now. With a sigh of pleasure, he closes his eyes and threads his fingers into her soft hair. He likes long hair on women, preferably dark hair.
He and Nikolai are different in that aspect: Nikolai favours the blond ones.
Well, small surprise he picked a blond bitch just now!
Of course the images are back now, and they incite his desire. He growls and presses Sonya's naked body against his, but surely she will think this is because she is busy suckling his left nipple at the moment. Foreplay, yes. He usually likes a bit of foreplay when the girl is skilled, and when she really does well, he is ready to repay her in kind. To have a woman moan with genuine pleasure under him, to have her beg for more, to be her ultimate god for a little while is an immensely stimulating thing.
He rolls her over suddenly, grinning at her little squeal, and starts nibbling one of her breasts while he cups the other with his hand. Indeed they are a bit small for his taste, but it does not matter that much, as long as they can be fondled.
Another proof that he is no damn queer: He likes nicely shaped breasts far too much.
Still, Nikolai has a perfect torso.
Pushing the thought away angrily, he first bites Sonya's neck, then parts her legs and kneels between them to lick her for a bit, just to hear her moan. This, too, is a kind of power he exerts over her. She is ready for him, more than ready, but he continues until he knows she is close to reaching the peak. He pulls back then, and instead lies over her and enters her once again, and soon enough she is already gasping and groaning softly under him, her fingers clenching around his upper arms.
He finishes soon after her. It has taken a little longer than the first time, but still it was short. He is impatient today, he notices. With a sigh of content he lies back again beside her, just for a moment, before getting dressed once more…
Only then he notices that Nikolai is standing in the doorway, his shoulder against the frame, his shirt still unbuttoned and hanging wide open. He does not move, just stands waiting quietly, and a tiny smile is playing around his lips.
"What the bloody fucking hell are you doing here?" he flares up, and Sonya winces beside him at hearing his tone. He scares her when he is furious, he knows it, but he does not care at the moment.
"Your father called," Nikolai says calmly. At least he has pulled the door shut behind him again. "I picked it up since you weren't around, but he insists that it's urgent."
He curses and climbs out of bed, throwing the blanket back over Sonya. That Nikolai can now see him naked does not matter to him; Nikolai has seen him without any clothes before. He pulls his boxers on, then bends down to retrieve his trousers. "Give me my phone, then," he demands while he does them up.
Nikolai hands him his mobile phone, which he has left in the pocket of his jacket, and he selects his father's number from those saved among his contacts, muttering to himself furiously. Can't a man even have a moment's peace with a little bitch without being disturbed?
How much has Nikolai seen, he wonders while the phone rings, for how long has he been there?
And is he really angry that Nikolai walked in? Is he angry at all?
Isn't this what he secretly wanted?
"Yes?" his father prompts at the other end. "Kirill?"
"It's me, Papa. You said you wanted me?"
"I'm meeting up with Timofey Uchanev in half an hour's time, and I would like you to be present." How surprisingly warm his father's voice sounds! And yet he knows better than to assume that his father has already forgotten about his recent excessive drunkenness.
"The contact from Kazakhstan?"
"Precisely," his father confirms. "Hurry. This is important."
"I will, Papa, don't worry." It might be considered an honour, actually, but he rather tends to see it as a subtle reminder of the important role he, the only son, should play in the family. At least his father judges him to be intelligent enough to catch the hint, he thinks with a wry little smile as he hangs up and pockets the phone, then puts his socks and shoes back on. "Let's be off, Kolya. Meeting in half an hour. See you, Sonya," he adds as an afterthought as he picks up his shirt.
"Bye, Kirill." She probably is glad to be alone again, he assumes as he leaves the room, hearing her voice calling after him, but what does he care? She considers offering herself to the boss's son not so bad, clearly, and does it really matter if she does so because she finds him handsome, because he is good at what he does, or because she simply hopes to win his affection or at least a small favour this way? It doesn't, not at all.
Yes it does. It does.
You're growing soft, he tells himself as he looks around for Sergei, who still is nowhere to be seen.
"He's still busy," Nikolai remarks, guessing who it is he is looking for.
Kirill shrugs, pulling his shirt back on and buttoning it up while hurrying down the stairs, and Nikolai does the same, with his jacket and tie over his arm. "No matter. C'mon."
Why does he feel so bleak, he wonders as he later on sits in the passenger seat, beside Nikolai, and silently gazes out at the street, at the other cars passing by, why does he feel so empty? What is the matter with him? The mad, burning desire from before is gone, leaving nothing in its wake. Nothing. A deep void in his heart.
Involuntarily he sighs, and he sees from the corner of his eye that Nikolai's gaze briefly flickers towards him. He inwardly curses himself for showing what could be seen as weakness, even in front of Nikolai, who is the best friend he has, but Nikolai does not comment, and he feels a new wave of affection running through him, sentimental as it is.
And once again the scene from before appears before his inner eye, Nikolai furiously, ecstatically thrusting into that girl… The unfocused look in his eyes after it was over, the first time Kirill has ever seen them gone unfocused… He shakes his head as if shaking a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, but really he is trying to shake those images off. They make him feel dirty, in a way. Guilty.
Is Nikolai at the same time thinking of what he witnessed when he came in with the phone?
As if he could read his thoughts, Nikolai suddenly says, "I know now what it is the girls like about you."
"Really?" he asks in English, only to switch back into Russian straight away. "What is it, my arse?"
Nikolai chuckles, his typical dry chuckle of amusement. "I didn't see much of that. The blanket was in the way. But I can prepare a well-rounded report and critique, if you like. Just give me five minutes to stare at it, and I'll take notes."
His face remains serious as he says it, and so does his tone, but as Kirill turns to look at him, he sees that sparkle in Nikolai's greyish-blue eyes, the sparkle of mischief, and simultaneously they burst out laughing. "How dare you judge the arse of a vor, you Siberian ox?" he mocks him.
Not so long ago, he has bellowed something similar at Nikolai, but in a very serious, angry fashion, he notices, and he now feels sorry for it, in a way, but he does not know what to say about it, if anything at all. Does a vor not have to prove his authority at times? Does he not have to make sure his subordinates fear his wrath?
Was it not all Nikolai's own fault, anyway?
Does not apologising prove his weakness?
He tends to doubt this, but he is sure his father thinks that way, and he is reluctant to question his father.
But then again, what business of his father's is it what he says to Nikolai?
It would be very simple. Sorry I shouted at you. But Kirill cannot quite get himself to say it. Instead, he bites his lower lip and looks at his own knees. Under the black fabric of his trousers, the stars are hidden, the stars that make him who he is. The stars that signify that he will kneel to no one. Never. To no one in the world.
No. Kirill will not be weak.
Besides, it's really all Nikolai's fault. Kirill has made him an offer, and a generous offer at that. He would even have let him pick the girl they would have shared. But no, Nikolai just doesn't get it, disloyal bastard that he is!
Yet all the same… Kirill cannot deny that he feels bad about it all, very bad indeed.
"You might have let me judge the slut's arse instead," Nikolai remarks, and Kirill looks up and grins. For some reason, he likes it when his friend speaks of matters like these. "She's a pretty thing."
"She's mine, brother." Kirill does his best to imitate Nikolai's predator smile. "Because she's good. I've got her well trained, see?" This is safe territory, talking about women. "She actually likes getting fucked, as long as it's me."
"I could see that," Nikolai states, and there is the feeling of awkwardness again, hanging between them like a cloud of mist slowly turning to fabric, but Nikolai does not seem to notice it. "That was what I was referring to. You seem to be a skilled lover. I had no idea."
Kirill inhales slowly. This is not the kind of compliment one expects from a man, not even from a friend as close as a brother. "Of course you had no idea, dummy," he tries to lighten the mood by joking. "Because I can't fuck you, can I now?" But it does not help at all.
"Technically you could," Nikolai says calmly, taking a right turn, "but if you absolutely insist, I must ask you to wait 'til the day when you wake up as a girl."
"Wouldn't dream of it. You go turn yourself into a girl. It can be done surgically, you know. Pretty realistic, even. I've seen pictures." The idea of a female Nikolai amuses him greatly, and he tries to imagine him with long hair and in a dress. "I'm sure you'd make a lovely woman," he teases him.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Nikolai teases him back, "but you'll find no doctor who'd do that to me. I'd have to be a woman psychologically for that kind of thing."
"How do I know you aren't, secretly?" Poking fun at Nikolai probably is the best way to get over what happened at the brothel.
"You just saw me fuck a girl, didn't you?"
So much for avoiding the topic. "That proves nothing. You might be a lesbian."
Even Nikolai laughs at that, and Kirill is glad he managed to get him to, no matter how idiotic the joke. "This is the first time in my life somebody accuses me of being a lesbian. Do you do that kind of thing often?"
"What, find out my men are lesbians? Nah, Kolya, you're the first lesbian who ever worked for me. But don't worry, I'm not going to fire you because of it. I've always wanted a girl driver."
Nikolai takes a hand from the wheel to playfully swat at him without turning his attention away from the road, and Kirill knows everything is alright. When Nikolai starts play-wrestling or anything similar, which happens rarely enough – normally it is Kirill who starts it –, then he is in a cheerful mood. As calm and controlled as he is, it is hard to read his emotions, but Kirill has come to know him better than anyone else. Often enough he has no clue what is going on in Nikolai's head, but there are hints, hints which he has learned to interpret, and this one was fairly obvious.
The next moment, though, Nikolai spoils it all again, destroys Kirill's newfound cheerfulness with just a few simple words. "Did your father tell you to put me to such a test?"
At once Kirill feels trapped, and the guilty feeling he has tried so hard to banish returns to him, comes crashing down on him, accompanied by a wave of disgust at himself. You fucking kinky queer perverted bastard, a voice at the back of his head whispers, and he can practically hear the words being uttered in his father's voice. You knew before that he's no queer. You knew it exactly. There was no need for this… except for your own sick need, you swine, and your stupid wounded pride. It wasn't the girl's body that made you horny, not even her nice tits, and you know that. You filthy queer, you were trying to have what you can't get…
"It's no fucking business of yours what my father tells me and doesn't tell me," he says harshly. "No fucking matter if it's about you or not."
Nikolai says nothing, but Kirill does not even have to look at him to know what kind of expression he is wearing: that look. The knowing look that says it all. And he hates it when Nikolai wears it, he hates it with passion. In a way, though, he cannot but admire him for always knowing everything, but this sentiment makes him even more furious.
At times he hates Nikolai for always seeing him through. And yet, Nikolai is the only one who will be there for him when he needs someone, the only one who will understand.
And Nikolai understands everything, and he remembers. He knows Kirill's every weakness. He knows far too much.
And he will remember the offer he has made him in the first place: that they share a girl. He will remember, and he may draw conclusions from it.
Before he has met Nikolai, Soyka probably was his best friend, if he could ever have called him thus. He has never trusted Soyka with so much, but still, they have shared a few things. If not friends, they have been companions. But Soyka is dead now, and he does not miss him. It does not matter to him. Well, maybe it does, yes, because, after all, they really have spent a lot of time together, maybe it does, he admits it, but not so much. Alright, it did upset him, though he has done his best not to show it, but he has not cried over it or anything. When Nikolai knows too much, maybe it would be best to dispose of him too.
But then he imagines Nikolai's body in the place of Soyka's, and immediately he knows that this would not be the same thing, and he does not need the stinging feeling in his eyes to tell him how much it would hurt. Defiantly staring ahead until the blur in his vision clears up again, he hopes that Nikolai has not noticed the brief increase of moisture in his eyes.
For tonight he will think of something, he decides, something they can do together that Nikolai will enjoy, just to show him he likes him. Anything. As long as he does not have to apologise.