All That I Have Done
Ivan spied on Alfred from a measured distance. The latter was a lost puppy in a sea of sullen-looking commuters, glancing furtively about with a worried furrowed brow.
They were on a crowded Tube platform, and the air was muggy with hundreds of rain-drenched bodies steaming in the claustrophobically-packed space. The arrival of a train was signalled by a screeching roar and a blast of hot air, the wind whipping at the hems of coats and skirts as the crowd surged towards the track. Alfred allowed himself to be washed along with them. He was still looking around, his glasses fogging up, as the train slowed to a still, opened its doors, and poured another flood of people onto the platform.
"Mind the gap. Mind the gap. Mind the gap."
Carefully, with all the practiced ease of a regular commuter, Ivan weaved his way through the crowd until he was standing right behind Alfred. "Keep moving, my sweet," he said affectionately, ignoring the way Alfred jumped and stiffened all over, fear sliding across his face.
When they boarded, they found themselves pressed into a tight corner of the carriage. Ivan watched in mild amusement as Alfred, trapped in his little plastic nook, spun indecisively on the spot, trying to choose between facing Ivan or the wall. He kept his bright blue eyes averted, embarrassment flushing his cheeks pink. In the end, as the carriage doors hissed shut and the train lurched forward, he clutched at a handrail and stood with his back to Ivan.
Too late, he realised he had made the wrong choice as Ivan pressed up to his back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as a hand slid down the side of his waist.
"No, you promised me, you promise you wouldn't–" he began in a high frantic whisper.
"And I intend to keep my promise," Ivan cut in. It came out a little harsher than he had intended, and he was sorry to see Alfred flinch from him, his terror palpable as his knuckles whitened, gripping tightly to the handrail. He let out a weary sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Alfred said nothing. An uneasy silence hung over them as the train trundled on, Alfred looking to focus on something – anything – that was not the feel of Ivan's hand resting on his hip.
It was then that he glanced up to the Tube map and realised, with a jolt, that he had never taken this line before. Ivan must have purposely chosen an unfamiliar route for him, to keep him disorientated. It was taking them far from the usual tourist destinations, and he wished again that a better time had been picked for the meet up. He did not like being painted into a corner like this. He did not like being so close to him, so close he could smell the musk and the day's labour on his person…
He stopped short, horrified at the direction his thoughts were straying into, and his eyes flitted to Ivan's reflection in the window before quickly lowering to his rain-sodden feet.
To his dismay, his brain was choosing that very moment to recall their first meeting on that mortifying train ride. Would he ever forget it? It was enough to make him feel hot and cold all over, and he shuddered bodily, bowing his head low, hoping that Ivan would not notice, that he would not see…
"Hmm, what's this?"
Alfred let out an involuntary yelp, which was mercifully drowned out by the sound of wheels squealing on the tracks. Ivan had cupped a hand to his crotch, and was massaging his arousal with slow cruel circles of his palm, his breath rolling heavily across Alfred's red-flushed neck. Alfred scrabbled futilely at his hand, trying to get him to stop. Tears prickled his eyes as he fought to keep from making any more noise, terrified that somebody would be alerted to them.
"No, please, l-let go," he begged in a trembling voice, his eyes wide and staring at anywhere but Ivan. But he only seemed to have encouraged his tormentor who continued rubbing through the fabric of his jeans, roughly coaxing him into a full hard-on.
Alfred was now drawing breath in sharp rattling gulps, his eyes slipping close behind fogged up glasses. His expression was mirrored in the black window, and he made for an inviting spectacle the way his mouth slackened and fell open. Not satisfied with mere contact over his jeans fabric, Ivan glided his hand up along Alfred's fly and caught his belt buckle, unclasping it in quick deliberate movements. Alfred clutched the handrail with palms that were slippery with sweat. He let out a hitched breath as his jeans were unzipped and pulled down his hips, his erection brought fully out and shaking with treacherous need.
Ivan's breathing grew lustfully shallow as he wrapped his hand around Alfred, his nose pushing into Alfred's rain-dampened hair. "You want this," he murmured into the shell of his ear.
"Haah…!" was Alfred's reply, exhaled in a half-moan as Ivan began to stroke. He bit down on his lip as Ivan stroked along his length, his mouth pressing soft nipping kisses to the nape of Alfred's neck.
A part of him worried about the train pulling into a platform now; what would he do if the carriage emptied out and someone was to notice them? Another part of him could only focus on suppressing himself; he had his mouth clamped shut, but he was breathing rather noisily through his nose; he could only hope that the clattering carriages was louder than he was being.
And yet another part of him – a dark, shameful part – was eagerly responding under Ivan's teasing ministrations. His body betrayed his desires the way it moulded to Ivan's wandering hands, inviting for his tormentor to touch more of him. "You want this," Ivan whispered again as Alfred's lips quivered in a mixture of fright and gratification.
No I don't, Alfred futilely thought as he began to climb his peak. I don't want this, I don't want this, I don't…
The train was racing through the open city with rain spitting down from a grey and oppressive sky. He was sitting in a cushioned seat, and in his hand he held a large padded envelope containing the photographs he had been blackmailed with.
These are the only copies, including your memory stick. I've burnt everything else. Keep it safe.
He had stared, spent, shamefaced and weak-kneed, leaning against the plastic wall for support, as the man who had terrorised him for so long willingly relinquished his power over him. The envelope was heavy in his hand. He gripped tight to it. He could hardly believe what he was holding, but he found himself trusting Ivan's words in spite of everything.
You won't see me again.
There was only gentleness in Ivan's tone, but Alfred had felt an inexplicable stab of dread at that.
This is goodbye, sweetness.
His lips still tingled from the light tender kiss Ivan had pressed to him, an act that was always at odds with everything else he did. Now he sat alone, cold and shivering in a quickly emptying carriage. He had missed his stop, but he could not bring himself to stand and leave.
As the train slowed around a curve in the tracks, he crushed the envelope in his hand. He dropped his face into the open palm of a free hand as hurt, anger and bitterness – and sheer bloody relief! – flooded him. His shoulders shook with dry, wracking sobs.
Overhead, the recorded voice of a woman smoothly announced, "The next station is…"