AN: Hey there, PD here. Sorry I didn't post this chapter earlier in the week! I'm still working on the third and was trying really hard not to put this one up until I had the next one done. I do plan to finish it, even if it ends up taking me a while. Hopefully the next chapter will be the last. It may take time due to having several different ideas for it, but it'll get done eventually.
If you catch any mistakes or names that I forgot to change in this chapter, or in any of my other chapters/works, please tell me. I don't like failing when it comes to writing.
Enjoy, dearies. ^-^
Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this already? I DO own them. PISS OFF.
Despite the fact that their evening together had started off rather unpleasant and somewhat awkward, things had started to settle down a bit after Yuriy got through his first six-pack and Boris was well on his way to finishing a twelve. The hands had been back and forth for three hours straight, prying questions and ridiculous dares tossed charily between the two Russians like hot coals. The game finally appeared to be drawing to a close, with over three-fourths of the M&Ms in Boris' possession.
Boris had learned several things over the course of the evening. He had discovered that Yuriy was apparently his own little personal stalker and that he had a highly sensitive stomach. The poor captain had upchucked a luscious blend of body temperature beer and chunky milk all over the kitchen floor, Boris howling so hard he'd burst into tears in the process as he pointed and laughed like an immature child. There were other interesting tidbits he discovered as well. Such as the fact that Yuriy did in fact have OCD, of which Boris had always suspected anyway, and that he had never technically been with anyone before.
That one had stumped Boris. How the hell had Yuriy of all people ended up alone all this time?
The brooding Russian tossed an empty bottle over his shoulder, not really caring whether it hit something and knocked it over. He didn't have much of value in the murky little apartment anyway, so why bother? He was currently sitting pretty at the end of another hand, the odds in his favor with a high run. Boris pushed a few of the now slightly melted candies into the center and waited for Yuriy to make a move.
Yuriy had found out some rather interesting information about Boris over the course of the past three hours as well. He had actually gotten his former teammate to admit part of why he had abandoned the rest of them five years ago. The gray-haired male had hesitated, but reluctantly—and somewhat shamefully—admitted that part of why he had left was because he felt inadequate as a member of the team. He had failed in Moscow when his win had been most vital, and he had failed two years later when faced against Garland, even with Sergei at his side. He hadn't felt worthy of his spot on the team and chose to take that realization as his cue to leave.
If Yuriy had been able to figure that out on his own five years ago, they would be in a very different situation to this day.
The redhead knocked back the last of his bottle, placing it to the side and looking rather wearily at Boris. The younger Russian questioned him with a curious glance, noticing the distant look in Yuriy's piercing eyes. Yuriy himself had been oblivious to Boris watching him, getting up slowly and heading into the kitchen again without a word. He returned to the card table with another beer already pressed to his lips, downing it just as fast as his body would allow.
'If I could go back and change anything, Borya, that would be it. I would've told you that you were fucking stupid for thinking about leaving, that I didn't support your decision and then I would've beaten the shit out of you and forced you to stay. And maybe, just maybe, we'd both be happy all these years later. Fucking look at you,' Yuriy stared hazily at Boris' intoxicated figure, both intrigued and disgusted with him. 'Things could've been different, you selfish piece of shit.'
Boris was still waiting for Yuriy to either hold or fold, but was much less interested in the game than he was Yuriy's actions. The redhead didn't drink near as often as Boris, and to see him chugging a drink now just seemed...wrong.
'You goddamned fool, last time I checked that was my bright idea. Are you trying to prove something to me, Yuriy? What, that you don't wanna be here anymore than I do? You're free to go. But me...this is all I've got. If there's anything I've learned up 'til this point, it's that I've got nothin' at all to offer you.'
The falcon watched quietly as the wolf took his seat, barely suppressing a sigh of hopelessness.
'You know, Red, it's almost funny how being here with you again puts everything into perspective. But if having you here brings it all back, why do I still feel so numb? Maybe hollow's a better word for it. Is that what you're trying to achieve too? That dying sensation? Because I swear it doesn't work as well as you might think, my friend. It'll never make you free...'
Yuriy took another peek at his hand, setting his nearly empty bottle next to it and glancing down at his pocket cards. He was toting trips, a mediocre hand to have carried past the turn card, and a downright shitty one to have ended the round on. The wolf flared his nostrils with a huff and re-raised. There was no sense in backing out if he was already losing.
Sure enough, Boris caught onto the partial bluff and re-raised as well, daring Yuriy to go all-in on this one hand. Then they could be rid of each other and this whole entire evening could dissipate just as quickly as it materialized. Yuriy wouldn't be done in so easily. He shrugged and flipped up his cards, revealing the losing hand. His intuition had been on-point throughout the course of the game, but the deck had favored Boris time and time again in the past half hour of play, leaving the redhead no choice but to fold round after round. He hadn't lost near as many candies to Boris head-to-head as he had to the starting blinds. Yuriy scowled down at the cards, cursing his shitty luck with a vengeance.
"Not lookin' so tough over there, Ivanov. Say, weren't you supposed to be a pro at this game? As in not an amateur?" Boris had long since abandoned his bemused expression, merely doing his best not to glare at the overly-ripe strawberry across from him.
"Shut up," the wolf muttered, his tone equally as acidic as his taller companion's. "So do you even have to bother asking now? After that little milk stunt, you know 'm gonna pick truth anyway."
"Oh, I know. I just enjoy watchin' you get riled up at the thought of another dare. I warned you, didn't I?" Boris attempted to give a brash smile, but his heart wasn't in it. Yuriy could see clearly though the falcon's lie.
"Whatever, just ask."
"Hmm, what the hell haven't I already asked you?" Boris pondered a moment, clasping his hands and watching Yuriy shuffle the deck for the hundredth time that night. His movements were much more sluggish than usual; Boris took his chances. "Well, seein' as I already asked all the basic generic shit, how about this: Why the fuck are you still here?"
Yuriy's head snapped up at once, cutting deep into the falcon with the sharpest look he had ever mustered. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Boris began slowly, "That I don't fucking understand why you're still here. Not just my apartment, but...why are you still in Moscow?"
The wolf's look softened instantly, an unreadable emotion in his feral eyes. Was that hurt Boris saw, or was he just imagining it? Sadness? Why was Yuriy looking at him like that?
Said Russian bit his bottom lip, closing his lids and taking a deep breath in, slow to exhale. He looked up at the ceiling, knowing there was no way in hell he could look Boris in the face and say these words.
"Well?" the falcon repeated, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.
"I...I didn't have a choice. You were still here, 'n you still are, so here I am." Yuriy looked back across the card table to see a very flabbergasted Boris half-gaping at him, so he decided to continue. "Look, I could've ditched just like Ivan 'n Sergei did and it wouldn't've done me a damn bit of good. I would've ended up back in this city no matter how far I tried to run..." The cool blue orbs chilled Boris to the core as they clashed with his silver stare. "I can't run when I've got nowhere to go 'n nothin' to run from. 'N I sure as fuck can't run when I've got everything I wan—,"
"—You stayed because of me?" Boris stood now, coming to the other side of the table and standing off to Yuriy's side. The captain turned to face his former subordinate and looked up.
"What?"
A hard slap hit him square across the face.
"You're a goddamn stupid fucker, y'know that?" Boris roared, his cutting voice felt by every bone in Yuriy's body, shaking him like a brittle leaf on a dying tree. The redhead remained motionless, too anesthetized by the alcohol and the shock to make any sudden movement. "You stayed here all this fuckin' time to—what?—watch over me? You could've already had your happy ending, but no, what do you choose to do? You choose to rot away in this piece of shit city for my sake! What the fuck's wrong with you, Yuriy?"
The male in question appeared dazed, his ghostly fingers lightly observing the damage to his cheek without looking. He could feel the throbbing beneath his fingertips as he flinched ever so slightly at his own stinging touch. Yuriy set the deck down and stood, his posture calm and poised in contrast to his glazed eyes and blazing temper rising from being struck. Before Boris had any time at all to anticipate his movement, he found himself with his back slammed harshly against the wall, a thin hand clamped possessively around his neck and one of his wrists. Pain shot up through his spine from the point of contact, his airway cut off completely by the vice grip over his throat. Yuriy watched with sick satisfaction as the falcon went blue in the face, the paradox of being opposites yet one in the same unfathomable as red adorned his own cheeks, a concoction composed of anger, shame, guilt, and hurt all surfacing after years of being buried.
Despite being choked and partially helpless, Boris couldn't help but feel a rise as he noticed the cool contact of Yuriy's frail yet rigid body against his own. Was that why the wolf had suddenly turned so red? He imagined that he himself had to look something close to purple at the moment if that were truly the case.
'God damn, Yuriy, if I die right fucking now, I just might die happy.'
"So that's the fucking thanks I get, huh? You wanna know why I'm really still here, Borya? Because you're a goddamned fuck-up and you wouldn't even be here right now if I wasn't around. Some sick fuck would've robbed and probably raped you last week in that alley if I hadn't come along, could've fucking killed you for all you know, and all you can think about is your bastard self! Why stay in Moscow? Because unfortunately for both of us, you're all I fucking have!"
Yuriy fell silent, releasing the grip on Boris' neck, but still holding onto that wrist of his. If it was all destined to fall apart now, he might as well go full-throttle and say it all before he sobered up and lost what little nerve he ever had.
Although still attempting to catch his breath, Boris was more or less speechless anyway. Had Yuriy really just said that? That Boris was all he had left? How could that even be possible? The falcon had been hiding away in his little apartment trying to escape from his past for all these years to find that the one piece he had never really been able to let go of was still holding onto him for dear life. And to that one little piece, it never mattered that he was a fuck-up, that he gobbled fucking antidepressants faster than a child devoured Halloween candy, and that he didn't have shit to show for his life. For all the years since he'd been on his own, the only thing Boris had managed to acquire was a long and growing list of issues ranging everywhere from financial to mental.
Why had Yuriy chosen him over happiness?
The falcon looked down, watching the rage swirl in Yuriy's eyes as their gazes met. His free hand, which had been bracing himself against the wall he was pressed to during the assault and rubbing his sore neck after the fact, now ran through his captain's thick red hair, coaxing him to look back up when he had averted his eyes downward in embarrassment.
For being two years older than Boris, Yuriy would always be the child of the two.
"Look at me," Boris demanded, not a bit of playfulness or wiggle-room in his tone. The proud wolf, now looking more like a kicked puppy than a vicious hunter, complied without struggle. "You had no right to give up your own future like that, Yuriy. You know better than that."
"Do I?" Yuriy scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, fighting to find his next choice of words. "Do you really think you're below me, Borya?" His question was coated with accusation and bewilderment, his disbelief shining brightly through the dim cerulean barriers separating them.
Boris said nothing. Maybe he had believed that all this time.
'And why the fuck would I think anything else? You're so much better than me, Yuriy, it's not even funny. You always have been. If I were even half as good as you are, I'd be working at some homeless shelter somewhere and trying to go to school too. I'm two years younger than you, for fucks sake, and yet I'm the one who's already given up. So why the hell did you waste all this time...on me? What are you waiting for?'
"So that's it. Nothin'? No comeback? No 'Shut the fuck up, Red'? Nada?" The wolf reached up and pulled the rough hand out of his hair, pinning it to the wall as well. Now Boris was really fucked. "I've been your best friend for fifteen years 'n you don't have two fucking words to say about this?"
"...Let's bet."
"Huh?"
A spur-of-the-moment idea; not the greatest, but Boris had no choice but to roll with it. He squinted down at Yuriy, his wrists shifting beneath the shorter male's unyielding grasp. "You barely have enough 'ruble' to make it through 'nother round. Let's finish the game."
Yuriy's shifty eyes glared the younger male down, pissed beyond all belief that Boris had even bothered to mention the damn game at such a crucial moment. However, the silent promise of what the end of their game signified rang true to Yuriy, who released the falcon and took his seat, dealing the final hand with more finesse than he'd possessed the entire time he'd been there. Boris crossed his arms defensively from his chair on the other side of the table.
This was going to be a fight-or-flight round for both of them.
Yuriy was first to act, having no choice as dealer but to make the first move at the pre-flop. He looked down at his cards and barely managed to mask his abhorrence. A suited king-queen of hearts wasn't exactly the kind of hand he wanted to see before he got knocked out completely, the irony of it paining him to depths unknown. Thanks again, Cupid, you jackass...To anyone else who had ever played the game, this would be a fabulous hand to start the round with. For Yuriy, however, the nightmare had only just begun. He had started many a round with this very same hand and the river card had fucked him over every single time. He looked to his pile, a mere twenty-three candies left to wager. His breathing went shallow instantly as over half of his remaining "chips" went into the pot.
Boris took a rather disgusted look at his own hand as well, resisting the immediate urge to groan when he saw a suited six-nine. Oh, haha, very fucking funny, Ivanov, you would deal a hand like this wouldn't you... Of all the damn pocket cards to try and win the game with, he would have to get one of the worstpossible hands known to man. Okay, well maybe not the worst; anyone who ever played hold 'em could easily tell you that two-seven off-suit was by far the most atrocious hand to hold. Although fully loaded with about ninety percent of the M&Ms in his possession, he decided to show a small bit of mercy by playing in the big blind, a good amount of his pile pushed in without caution.
Yuriy glared heatedly. Was Boris trying to fuck with him?
'Not your brightest move there, Kuznetsov. If you think for a damn second that I can't kick your ass just because I'm two-thirds your weight and three inches shorter, you'd best think again.'
Yuriy showed the flop, revealing an ace, seven and eight, all of which were miraculously of the same suit...all hearts. Both players felt a rush of relief wash over them, small mercy from above playing into their hands this time. With both Russians holding pocket hearts, they had managed to pick up a flush right off the bat. Yuriy remained in the lead with the higher hand. However, with blinds running 20-40 after each ten minute raise, the wolf had only three hard-coated chocolates to his name.
'I've got you this time, you bastard; I can feel it. Chris Jesus Ferguson himself is shining down on me tonight brighter than all the goddamned stars in the galaxy and I won't let him down.' (1)
'Well, Yuriy, it appears our game really will end here. It's been nice knowing you.'
Boris took note of the massive pile in the center of the table, glancing at Yuriy's non-existent 'chips'. He really wanted out of this hand more than anything, but it was far too late to back out now that he'd initiated the challenge. Even though they would both face consequences whether they won or lost the round, he had to continue playing to the very best of his abilities, his face never giving the slightest hint as to what his hand might contain. Fuck, for all he knew, Yuriy was probably holding pocket aces and was about to win this round by catching quads at the last second.
It really didn't matter what he was holding, though. All Boris knew was that this game had to end here. One way or another, this had to be the final round, because questions were scalding him from the inside out and it was taking every bit of his willpower not to lash out this very second, chucking the damn card table straight out his third-story window and going utterly and completely ape-shit. He wanted to beat the living hell out of Yuriy for staying because he wouldn't—couldn't—leave. He had ruined his own chances at a better life in making that call, and now Boris couldn't begin to fathom why the wolf hadn't run when the others had. What the fuck did that even mean, "you're all I fucking have?" The confusion and false hope churned his stomach, causing it to do flip-flops and somersaults that would make any gymnast proud and jealous at the same time.
Yuriy drummed his fingers on the table top and wiped the weariness from his eyes, ignoring the gray glare of the falcon. He began to toy with the last three M&Ms in his possession, pushing the red, yellow, and blue sweets around in a pattern to create miniature figure-eights.
Boris' thoughts calmed, if only for a moment. Yuriy couldn't be trying to bluff this hand if his nerves were showing through so visibly; he was riding this one out, betting what little he had until he would be forced to wager the rest of his pile.
So be it.
Yuriy's heart began to race as he flipped the turn card, the jack of hearts only finalizing his decision. This would be his last shot.
Boris' eyes narrowed to mere slits. He could easily survive the hand even if he didn't win it, but calling here would put Yuriy all-in. Was the wolf's hand really worth betting the game on? As if to justify what cards his adversary was holding, he took a good hard look at the older male, simultaneously trying to discern the emotions hidden beneath that frosty exterior of his. He knew his opponent had already figured out what the end of this game would do to them.
It would either tear them apart for good or it would...
The sadistic Russian closed his thoughts with a raise, which was quickly followed by a call.
"'m all in." Yuriy stood now, much the way he'd seen the Americans do at their World Series of Poker main events, looking all up in arms as though the outcome of that hand were the most important event of their lives.
For Yuriy, it would seal his fate.
"Call." Boris stood as well, his legs shaking as he got to his feet. Had he been more lanky than built, his knees would've surely been knocking against one another by this point.
Yuriy maintained his balance by pressing a hand firmly to the table top, trying to control his breathing and slow his heart rate. Boris could hear the exhalations grow more and more staggered by the second and felt the tension bare down on him with so much force that it was as though Yuriy's hand had never left his neck. He was suffocating in this room, this dirty little excuse for a home where dreams would either be made or shattered in the blink of an eye, the swell of a solitary heartbeat. Both players had their flush, but neither would expose their cards. Boris saw it that Yuriy should be first to do so since he was the one to go all-in, but when the redhead merely stood his ground without revealing his hand, the falcon followed suit.
Oceanic blue and quicksilver crashed into one another full-force, the thick steel walls holding firm against the rage of high tides.
...But it appeared that the waves were meant to come in over the top this time around.
The river card was a ten of hearts. Boris smiled sweetly, victory laced about his tongue like a brightly-beaded garland. He divulged his straight flush to his opponent.
"Well, Yuriy, I guess that's good game."
"So it is." The wolf replied indifferently.
'Wait for it...'
"Huh?"
'Wait for it...'
Boris' eyes widened in horror as Yuriy's face went aglow with fervor.
'Almost there, Pigeon. You're not always the brightest son-of-a-bitch, but you got this.'
"Oh HELL to the fuck no!"
'Ah, there it is.'
The falcon's jaw attempted to open several times, but clamped shut repeatedly until he could finally manage to outline the words. "You can't...there's no fuckin' way you could be!"
"Oh yes, my old friend," Yuriy's pearly whites glinted marvelously in the dim yellow light, his eyes wide with satisfaction and utter annihilation. He held the look of a predator that had just closed in on its pray. "Read 'em 'n weep."
Boris deadpanned as Yuriy flipped his pocket cards.
A royal flush.
"You...you finally did it. I've never seen you win with that hand before. Not in eight goddamn years of playin' this game have I seen you pull it off!" Boris couldn't even begin to mask his appall.
'Well, fuck me runnin', Red. You got me.'
Yuriy took his broad hands and scraped the pot over to his side of the table, the ragged breaths subsiding as he took back a good portion of his original "stack". He had caught the royal flush at the very last second with the ten, giving him the winning hand. Boris had thought he had the game with the very same card, completing his straight flush, but for the first time ever Yuriy had played and won with king-queen hole cards. Even if it had been the result of a retarded amount of luck and an apparently racist deck that had opted to only reveal hearts in the previous round, an unheard-of occurrence that would make any game official shake their head in disbelief, he was nonetheless grateful.
"So then—,"
"—Well, Red, I guess that means—,"
"—Hold that thought," Yuriy covered Boris' mouth with his palm, watching bafflement cloud his eyes. When he felt sure the so-called "pigeon" would understand what he was trying to do, he took his hand away carefully, as though releasing a captive into the wild.
"Yuriy, what about—,"
"—forget about it," the wolf stood unnervingly close to the falcon, his "captain voice" filling the room and demanding full attention. "Forget the game, Borya; the cards and the horseplay. I want the truth."
Boris felt himself shrink beneath Yuriy's ever-poignant stare, the order from the redhead's mouth a testament of their lifelong bond. Only Yuriy could truly stipulate something so easily from the falcon and expect an honest answer.
Said falcon took a revitalizing breath, closing his eyes to soak in the possibilities before answering. He gave his former captain an off-handed smile, one weary from prospect and what he soon believed would be regret.
"...What do you wanna know?"
The words were spoken uncharacteristically soft, so unlike Boris that Yuriy almost made the younger male repeat himself just to make sure he'd heard correctly. Seeing as such a request might only anger his old friend, he settled for assuming he was in the right.
"Borya..." Yuriy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms crossed to contain his nervous tremors. "What're you tryin' so hard to hide from me?"
'Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I don't know how to live without your guidance, or that I'm such a fucktard that I magically woke up one day and realized that you're the only reason I'm still here at all. Shit, I could say this a million different ways; which one would you prefer, Yuriy? Oh, and would you like fries with that while we're at it?'
"What do you want me t' say?" Boris inquired, hoping to get more leeway on his captain's request.
Yuriy sighed with impatience. "I want you to tell me..." he trailed off for a moment, making sure to word his next sentence cautiously. "Borya, what do you really think of me? 'M I really such a stupid fuck for stayin' here? Didja really mean that?"
"Yuriy, that wasn't exactly what I meant by it..." Boris took a leap of faith and reached out to pull a rather surprised redhead into his arms, pressing their bodies together in a way that nearly caused the pale blue eyes of the wolf to bulge from their sockets. He placed his hand over Yuriy's cheek, the one he'd hit before the final round, and stroked it lightly with trepidation, as though fearing his touch would be rejected. As his eyes closed once more, he felt the cool touch of another hand over his own.
"Then what did you mean?" Yuriy whispered, asking the question as though the words were so fragile that voicing them any louder meant certain demise.
"You're getting off-topic," Boris muttered coldly, feeling a pang of guilt at having caused the redhead so much confusion and pain. "You asked what I thought of you, right? What I really think?" a slight nod acknowledged him and he sighed into Yuriy's shirt. "I..."
"You...?"
"...I think you're amazing, Red. Always have, always will. There's just somethin' about you that...I know if you'd ever left Moscow for good, I'd have never made it. Why do I think you're such a stupid fuck? Because good people like you shouldn't ever feel like they have to waste their lives on scum like me. You were always so much better, so much more—,"
"—Stop that. Stop that immediately." Yuriy squirmed out of Boris' grip, separating himself from the falcon half-heartedly. "Before you degrade yourself any further, hear me out. Then I'll let you decide just how much better you really think I am." The older male picked up his beer and took the last swig of it, trying unsuccessfully to lubricate his throat and prepare himself for this speech of his. Admitting these words to Boris would also be the first time he'd admitted them fully to himself and it wasn't a matter to be taken lightly.
"Alright then, 'm listenin'. Go ahead."
Yuriy flicked his unruly red bangs out of his sight, making sure to hold the falcon's full concentration on his eyes. He knew Boris would be able to see if he tried to lie his way out of this confession. He couldn't allow himself to chicken-out when the omniscient stare of his oldest friend was boring directly into him.
"Borya, I've—," he looked down at his side out of nervous habit, soon forced to look up again as Boris raised his chin once more. "When you asked me earlier if I'd ever been with anyone, I told you no...And there's a pretty simple explanation for that. You think I'm a stupid fuck? You're absolutely right; I'm the dumbest son-of-a-bitch I know. Anyone else in my position would've run long ago, gotten the hell out of this city and started over as best they could. Maybe even found someone 'n gotten with them, started a family and a successful career 'n all that bullshit," Yuriy clenched his fists. "But no matter how many times I considered doing it, I couldn't—I always found one reason to stay, the same reason every single time. I swore I wouldn't leave until I knew for sure, 'n I never had the guts to say it, but—"
Boris cut in, taking the redhead firmly by the shoulders and pressing his lips to the other. Eyes wide with shock slowly melted, closing as Yuriy allowed himself to be dominated by the younger male. Although hasty, Boris' kiss was surprisingly gentle, not aggressive or violent as the wolf had predicted it would be like. The taller Russian slid his hands up to hold Yuriy's head in place, the warmth surging through them bringing the blush back to the captain's cheeks. Slowly but surely, they backed out of the dining room, abandoning the poker game and the harsh words from earlier. Abandoning years of apprehension and stupidity and territory unspoken for.
The two made their way back to the ratty blue sofa with Boris bringing Yuriy down on top of him as they fell onto the cushions. The redhead could feel heavy breathing from beneath him, Boris' whole body hot as a furnace causing his own to shiver in comparison. Their lips had not yet parted save for the purpose of allowing one another's tongues to explore, Yuriy feeling like an amateur at never having kissed another. Here he was, a twenty-three year old man, and he had the emotional and sexual maturity of a twelve-year-old girl. Even still, he couldn't fight the feeling that if he opened his eyes again, the moment would be gone forever and he'd be swept back into reality once more, back to a world where he was only destined to watch from afar, never allowed to touch.
Noticing the hesitation from his captain, Boris broke away from Yuriy, his hands having trapped the more nervous of the two to his chest possessively, fearing the second he might realize what he'd just done and run as far as humanly possible to get away. Despite his own fears leaking through his harsh demeanor, he kept a calm look on his face.
"So...was it worth it?"
Boris was still nose-to-nose with Yuriy, his breathing gone shallow from the weight on top of him and the dread of rejection. Yuriy sat up, redistributing his mass on Boris' hips and sinking him a little further into the couch. Perhaps this wasn't the way he imagined this would happen, but Yuriy wouldn't have traded it for the world.
'You know, Pigeon, I always used to have reveries about the finer things in life. Even in the abbey I had delusions that one day have the nice house and the kickass sports car and a woman and maybe a kid or two. As I got older, all of those things seemed to disappear. I've replaced livin' the dream with a cramped apartment, a beat-up clunker of a vehicle, a home full of orphans, and you...and even though it's the most unlikely outcome of all the futures I could've schemed up, it never once felt wrong to me. You're a fuck-up and a menace and I'm a hopeless idiot, but I'm also a believer and I'm starting to think that's good enough for me.'
Yuriy looked down at Boris, watching his chest rise and fall beneath his yellow t-shirt and his tendons in his neck strain as he looked up for an answer. His eyes were half-lidded, bringing the fact to light that they were both a little intoxicated, but the stone gray irises hit him in the eyes harder than rocks. There was nothing drunken about this decision; that much the wolf could be certain of.
"Yeah, Borya," his fingers slid beneath the bright fabric of Boris' shirt, tip-toeing their way from the bottom of his distended stomach up to his belly button, then advancing further to his lightly-outlined abs and strong pecks. Yuriy smiled as he felt goosebumps rise beneath his fingertips. "It really was."
'I was always yours, Red. Always yours.'
Boris trapped the hand beneath his shirt with his own, muttering under his breath so that his words were much too slurred to be deciphered. Yuriy scratched a spot on his chest to gain his attention.
"Wha-?"
"What'd you just say?"
The falcon released Yuriy's hand, trailing his own back down to rub his exposed stomach, which felt fairly swollen by the amount of beer he'd consumed. Yuriy's weight pressing down on it wasn't exactly helping matters either. He sighed in defeat.
"I said I don't get it. Why me?"
Bright blue eyes glistened in response.
"Why not you?"
'Why anyone else? They're not you, and they don't mean shit to me.'
"You know 'm not all innocent 'n shit, right?"
"Did I say I was judging?"
Boris grinned, watching as the redhead shifted off his waist and slid down in the couch next to him, a thin pasty arm tossed over his broad torso.
"Never said that, Yuriy."
"Shouldn't've thought it, Borya," he retorted playfully, now tracing the sharp features of Boris' face. "I don't give a fuck. Whoever they are, they're not here now are they?"
The larger of the two snorted. "Guess not."
"Didn't think so."
Seeing that Yuriy had begun to fidget, Boris took one of his arms and wrapped it behind him, using his brute strength to pull the wolf up until his head rested comfortably in the niche of his own shoulder. His senses tingled with glee as he felt Yuriy's lips press boldly to the side of his neck, opening and sucking roughly on the skin there. The masochistic side of Boris loved the feeling, reveling in the ache as though it were a rare delicacy to be savored rather than detested. The warm breath brought him chills, and for one sweet moment, he felt whole.
"God damn...that feels so..." the falcon's voice trailed off, lost amongst the mind-numbing pain.
The redhead removed his leech-like lips from Boris, a sadistic smile concealed by the shadows of the room.
"Like that, didja?" Yuriy touched the tender area with an inquisitive finger, causing Boris to flinch. It was already a fair shade of purple, one of which the wolf intended to make much darker, creating a bruise that could easily take a week or more to heal. He seized the area once more; Boris' toes curled up in recoil.
"Oh fuck, Yuriy..."
"Sounds like an invitation."
Boris rolled a slothful eye over to meet Yuriy's gaze. He had never seen the wolf look so serious.
"Y'wanna?" he asked, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in astonishment.
'I'll fuckin' take you right here and now, Red, just say the word.'
"One condition."
"Whatever you want." An instantaneous reply; Boris had already given in.
Yuriy breathed into the soft spot on Boris' neck, his words ghosting over the wound with lust.
"Whatever you do, don't wake me in time to get to class tomorrow."
Chapter Two Footnotes
1. Chris "Jesus" Ferguson is one of the "greats" of the game. One of my favorite players; I have several. He's (I believe) a two-time World Series of Poker champion, having won back in the nineties. I thought using him here would be a funny reference, even though I'm pretty sure neither Yuriy nor Boris are of any religious faith.
AN: So, any expectations for the next chapter? Let's hear some thoughts on it! On an unrelated note, I'd just like to let all of you know that I am currently accepting requests/stories to beta. Feel free to shoot me a document or a request and I'll make it happen! I especially love to beta, so send me stuff!
-PD