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The two new operators have arrived, Maxim and Alexsandr seemed pretty well acquainted with Lera while the air stilled the moment Olivier walked through the doors. The sense of hostility in the air was thick. Mike didn't even bother to make himself known, he just left the room. Doc sighed heavily while Emmanuelle seemed conflicted about what to feel. They quickly became the talk of the base, gossip spread and feelings were mixed. Shuhrat didn't really care too much about them. Lera was strict but nice, almost acting like a mother figure for the Spetz. Olivier on the other hand, was much more reserved, keeping to himself, only ever talking to Gilles. He avoided the SAS operators - more specifically Mike - like the plague.
Shuhrat had spotted Olivier eating dinner by himself one day when he walked into the mess hall late after cleaning up the workshop with Marius. He grabbed a random tray of food and walked over to the new Frenchman, sitting next to him. Olivier glanced over and smiled softly but said nothing.
The next time Shuhrat had interacted with Olivier was when a grenade had exploded near Lera. He made sure Gustave wasn’t in the room before coming in with a somber expression. He eyed Shuhrat when he walked past and sat down on the chair next to Lera’s bed. Things started escalating from there, and one day, after a particularly rough training exercise, Shuhrat found himself cornered by the Frenchman in the showers when they were the only two left. His back was pressed up against the cool tile and Olivier’s toned torso was against his. An empty look filled those brown eyes before turning to amusement. “I see your stares,” the Frenchman said in a low tone, sending shivers running up Shuhrat’s spine. He smirked before leaving the showers, leaving Shuhrat still in the corner, mildly confused.
The two had some sort of silent mutual respect, they never spoke much outside missions, but they respected one another. Shuhrat would always feel as if someone or something listening in on him, watching him. It could just be nerves, common paranoia due to stress, or Olivier’s gadget, flying high, focusing on him. He brushed off the feeling and followed Maxim out into the nearby woods.
~
Shuhrat was just walking through the dorm halls when the door of the CBRN unit suddenly opened and he was pulled inside. The door slammed closed and he was pushed against the wooden door with his arm twisted behind his back. “Что блять?!” Shuhrat yelled.
A hand pushed his cheek against the door and Olivier pressed his chest against Shuhrat’s back. Olivier kicked Shuhrat’s legs apart. The Frenchman’s knee was nestled between the Uzbek’s thighs, and Shuhrat grunted when he felt a light pressure pressing up on his crotch.
Olivier’s voice was low, raspy. “I would love nothing more than to destroy that ego of yours.”
He never thought he wanted anything more.
They met up in the CBRN unit’s room once more, but this time Shuhrat didn’t get slammed against a door. Instead, Olivier sat Shuhrat down on his bed and sat down in space next to him. The Frenchmen placed something on the bed with an innocent smile. It was an obnoxiously bright pink vibrator. Olivier grinned. “You're going to have that in you for the day. If someone finds out, that's another day.”
Shuhrat could hardly contain himself.
Olivier took his sweet time getting Shuhrat prepared, a full minute, to be precise. It took Shuhrat three minutes to get his bearings after it was in and the vibrations started at a low level. He was lying face down on the bed, scrambling for purchase as the vibrations increased, suppressing his groans by biting the pillows in front of him. “Going to have to get used to it soon,” Olivier warned in a sing-songy tone. Whining, Shuhrat filled onto his back, gasping when his weight pushed the toy in deeper. He sat up and shuddered, turning to look at the beaming Frenchman sitting in front of him. “Good boy.”
~
It was hell, the constant pressure, good, but not enough. Shuhrat had quickly become used to walking with the damn thing buzzing inside him, but he didn't think he would have to run with it. Julien had been called to run basic drills with the operators. He made it through the weightlifting portion alright, but the second the mile run started, the vibrations increased, nearly collapsing as his legs turned to jello. Olivier ran past him with a cocky smirk on his face.
“Are you alright?” Julien ran over to Shuhrat after he completed his mile.
The Uzbek was leaning forward with his hand on his knees, face flushed, breathing heavily. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded as Julien tried comforting him by rubbing his back. “Yes, I am alright,” he said stiffly.
Julien frowned. “Are you sure? Do you need to go see Doc?”
He shook his head and stood up straight, running a hand down his face. “I will be alright.”
Julien looked skeptical but let it go.
It was Shuhrat’s free time, free time that he normally spent with Marius in the workshop. He didn't trust himself to work with any remotely sharp or dangerous tool, sticking to handling the duller, ‘safer’ tools.
“You seem like you don't want to be here,” Marius muttered, looking up at the Uzbek from adjusting his ADS.
“I do!” Shuhrat declared. The vibrations increased as Shuhrat but back a whine, holding onto the screwdriver in his hands in a white-knuckled grip, bracing himself on the metal table, burning a hole into the wall with his gaze.
“Shu?” Marius called out to him. Worry was imminent in the German’s voice.
He took a deep breath. “I’m alright, I will be okay.” Marius didn’t believe him.
~
The Frenchman clicked his tongue. Movement and shuffling was heard somewhere behind him as the bed dipped. Gentle, calloused hands found their way to Shuhrat’s rear end, lightly ghosting the smooth skin. The Uzbek groaned as the hands moved to his hips, pulling him up onto his knees, while another hand moved up, pushing his chest down onto the mattress. “You were a very naughty boy,” the Frenchman whispered in Shuhrat’s ear. He received a shudder in response. The hands slipped further down again, stopping at the still buzzing vibrator buried deep inside Shuhrat. “You almost let the German find out, can’t let that happen now, can we?” Olivier pushed down on the end of the toy, simultaneously turning up the power, grinning at the Uzbek’s surprised response, arching his back, gasping loudly, breathless. The power was toned back down to what it was before.
“Do you want me to take this off?” Olivier asked, playing with the ends of the blindfold tied behind Shuhrat’s head. He got a whimper and a nod in response, pulling his arms apart, feeling the thin rope rub against his skin. There was a quiet hum and the blindfold was removed. The fucker was still wearing his boxers. “Look at me,” Olivier murmured, cupping his hand on Shuhrat’s cheek. Shuhrat did as he was told, staring into the Frenchman’s brown eyes. A tear fell from Shurhat’s eyes and Olivier wiped it away with a frown. “What’s wrong, feu d'ordures?”
Shuhrat sniffed, inwardly laughing at his stupid choice in nicknames. Everything was wrong, he was so needy he could feel himself shaking, and Olivier showed no signs of stopping. “Stop teasing.” He cringed when his voice failed to carry the weight he wanted it to.
Olivier leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on Shuhrat’s forehead. “Just a bit longer?” Olivier asked, putting on a pleading smile.
Shuhrat shifted and almost collapsed, thighs shaking. He wanted to, but he didn’t know if he could. The damn vibrator in his ass was driving him insane, not big or strong enough to provide any real relief. It was damn near infuriating. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted in a low voice.
Disappointment was immanent in the Frenchman’s face, but he smiled nonetheless. “Maybe next time then.” It wasn’t a question. Those hands ran down the length of his back and ended at the toy once more, slowly pulling it out, and pushing it back in, once, twice, three times. Shuhrat let out a strangled moan and buried his head in the pillow, fisting the sheets underneath him. The same hands gingerly pulled his legs further apart and pushed down on his back when he didn’t arch it enough. “Come now, behave.” Shuhrat keened when the toy was fully removed, skilled fingers took their place, rooting around, spreading him open while simultaneously looking for the one spot that would make him scream. The French attacker leaned forward, pressing his chest against Shuhrat’s back, pressing sloppy kisses over his shoulders, down to his lower back. “What do you want me to do?” He asked softly, smirking against Shuhrat’s skin, and pressed down. Shuhrat clenched his jaw to prevent what would undoubtedly be a loud, strangled moan.
Olivier chuckled, pressing down once more, watching Shuhrat squirm, panting loudly with his hands twisted into the white sheets. “I’ll ask again, what do you want me to do?”
The Uzbek’s neck was taught, mentally cursing at himself for his vocal cords not working.
Olivier stilled his movements, awaiting an answer.
A small whimper made its way out Shuhrat’s throat. “Please.”
A hum. “Please what?” A smug response.
Shuhrat was about ready to leave, to punch the smug fucker in the face and impale himself on a pistol or something. He let out a shaky breath and stared at the wall next to him, blinking back tears. “Please, I want you in me.”
“But I already am,” the Frenchman feigned confusion, scissoring his fingers for emphasis.
Shuhrat choked back a pained sob and pushed back on the fingers, craving more contact, but Olivier pulled back, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.
“Пожалуйста, недостаточно, пожалуйста, мне нужно больше,” Shuhrat breathed out, craning his head back to look at the Frenchman.
Another disapproving gaze and a light slap on Shuhrat’s ass made him jolt forward. “You know I cannot understand you.”
Shuhrat bit back a curse. “Please, fuck me.”
“That's, better,” Olivier smiled, pulling his fingers out. There was a sound of soft fabric rustling, a familiar click a bottle opening, and a wrapper tearing. Shuhrat could hardly contain himself. To think that someone would be able to reduce him into a whining, needy mess would be a funny thought if the only thing going through his mind right now was getting off on the Frenchman’s dick. Olivier shuffled back to the Uzbek, running his hands over the skin of Shuhrat’s butt, slowly massaging the flesh. “You're beautiful like this, all for me,” Olivier muttered.
Shuhrat shuddered in response, trying to spread his excitement.
A quiet chuckle and Olivier spread Shuhrat’s cheeks apart with one hand and guided himself in either the other. The dull head entered smoothly, and Olivier slid in with a silent groan, eating up all the soft, sighs of content escaping Shuhrat’s lips. Shuhrat sobbed. He felt so full, so perfect, but it wasn’t enough. Olivier bottomed out and dragged a hand over Shuhrat’s shaking thighs, letting out soft shushes to calm the other down. “What do you want me to do next?” He questioned.
Shuhrat tried to still his shaking, to calm his breathing. “Move,” he instructed, pulling himself forward slightly before pushing back as Olivier stayed in the same spot.
The Frenchman hummed. “Alright.” he pulled out painfully slow, chuckling to himself as Shuhrat let out a high pitched whine, trying to get more movement, more stimulation from the dreadfully slow action. Olivier grabbed the Uzbek’s hips, holding the other still.
By the time Olivier had fully pulled out and pushed back in, Shuhrat was a blubbering mess underneath him, rambling things in broken English and Russian. Olivier took pity and made his movements faster, pulling out and thrusting back in half the time it took the first time.
A strangled sigh of content came from Shuhrat so he did the same thing twice more, before stopping once again. “Пожалуйста, пожалуйста, недостаточно, Больше!” Shuhrat pleaded. Olivier could see tears streaming down the other attacker’s face and he chuckled in response.
“I’m not going to move until you tell me what that means,” Olivier said, patting Shuhrat’s thigh.
In response, Shuhrat buried his head in the pillow, using it to muffle his ruined moans. “Please!” He wailed.
Olivier reached forward, gently pulling Shuhrat’s hair, lifting his head off the pillow and turned him to face left. “Please what?”
Shuhrat’s expression was a mix of excruciating pain and pleasure, letting out a loud sob as he rutted back against Olivier’s cock, craving his sweet release. His mind was a cloudy haze, unable to form coherent thoughts, but he needed to. He racked his brain for the translation of one of the most simple English words while Olivier kneeled there, ever as patient as before, waiting, but he knew Olivier understood what he wanted, but the cursed french fry wanted him to say it. “Please, please! Fuck me! Ебать меня!” Shuhrat managed to scream out in understandable English before melting back into repeated Russian babbling, lightly thrashing around, pulling at the bonds holding his arms together.
“Good enough,” Olivier snickered. He let go of Shuhrat’s hair and adjusted his grip on the needy Uzbek, brushing up and down a stretch of skin with his thumb. A kiss was placed on the center of Shuhrat’s back. “You’re so good for me, so needy. You want this so bad, don’t you,” Olivier asked, mouthing at the skin on Shuhrat’s back. He gave a couple small thrusts to prove his point.
Whining, Shuhrat clawed at the sheets, pleading incoherently. Finally, Olivier granted him the mercy and contact he had been craving since the beginning, leaving Shuhrat’s tight heat before slamming back in, leaving Shuhrat a sobbing, trembling mess underneath him. The Uzbek’s wanton moans were like music to Olivier’s ears. Shuhrat’s head was thrown back, letting the lustful noises sound off freely while his expression was contorting into one of pure bliss as burning sparks of pleasure shot up his spine, with the Frenchman relentlessly pulling himself out and thrusting back in, nailing the Uzbek’s prostate with nearly every thrust.
At last, he had reached the peak of the mountain, coming crashing down with cloudy, lust filled thoughts as Shuhrat was finally pushed over the edge, coming with a silent cry and darkened vision. Olivier grunted, slamming back in before wordlessly rutting against Shuhrat, leaning forward to nip at the pale skin at Shuhrat’s neck while letting out a noise akin to a low, guttural roar. He removed himself from Shuhrat and let the other collapse onto the bed, breathing heavily, staring ahead with a dazed look. A few stray tears were still slipping down his face. Olivier smiled contentedly, pulling the Uzbek up off the bed, holding him in his arms, running his hands through Shuhrat’s dark hair, murmuring sweet nothings. Olivier cupped Shuhrat’s face in his hands and wiped away the remaining tears. He placed a soft kiss on Shuhrat’s forehead and pulled him in for a hug.
~
Shuhrat had slowly but surely arrived at the lounge and took a quick look around the room. Alexsandr had called him over and he slowly made his way there, making sure to avoid eye contact with a certain cursed french fry. Timur was reading a relatively thick book while also playing chess against Alexsandr. When he arrived at the Russian’s location, Maxim looked up at him, completely baffled. Shuhrat mirrored the defender’s expression. ”What?”
“How are you able to stand after last night?” The trapper asked in a hushed whisper. Timur slammed his book down as fast as all the color drained from Shuhrat’s face.