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Kirill liked it when the business was going well, though not for the same reasons as his father. He wasn't drawn to the ledgers, to pages of inventory and profit, to the conversations that happened well after the restaurant closed about how their influence was growing and how they could keep it that way. No, Kirill wanted the business to thrive and run smoothly because when it did, he had more freedom, fewer tethers to limit his comings and goings.
Because of that, he was able to slip out with only two men, one of them his driver. It was still too early for many people to have made their way to the pub, so Kirill managed to convince both of his keepers to wait for him in the car while he had a drink. Since they agreed, Kirill was even willing to overlook the fact that his driver rolled his eyes when he mentioned "drink" in the singular.
Not surprisingly, the drink turned into several, though not as many as he'd have knocked back if he was trapped with his family. Pleasantly buzzed more than flat out drunk, with the sweet warmth of the vodka humming through him, Kirill let his gaze wander to the bar's other patrons. A boy who didn't look quite legal was hitting on two women he didn't have the experience or money to touch. Two couples in a dark corner booth were tongue fucking each other in between rounds of ale. A trio of men slouched over the bar, wrung out from a hard day at the factory or too much drink for dinner or both. One other man sat a few barstools away from Kirill, and Kirill's gaze came to rest on him.
The man sat by himself, his attention on the newspaper spread on the bar in front of him. He wore a grey sweater that looked too soft to be wool, soft enough that Kirill's fingers curled as he imagined what it would feel like under them. His jeans were pale with wear and fraying in spots. Strands of his hair, a tousled light brown that was going to grey in places, fell into clear blue eyes. Kirill saw the tattoos on his hands as he turned the pages of the paper, curled his fingers around his glass to lift it and take a swallow of his drink.
Kirill wet his lips as he watched the other man's neck arch, throat work as he swallowed. He looked away as he felt his cock hardening. After finishing his own drink, Kirill called the bartender over and ordered another for himself and for the man still pouring over the paper.
It was wrong. Kirill knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, as soon as he saw the bemused look the bartender gave him. Wicked. Kirill focused his attention on his vodka. He hadn't bought the drink because the man looked like he needed it, hadn't bought it as a round for a mate. He'd bought it because he liked the look of the man, because he'd made Kirill hard. He'd bought it because he wanted, which was the reason people bought strangers drinks.
"Thank you. For the drink." The words were firm, confident, even though the accent was strong, and they came from much closer than Kirill expected. The man had moved over several stools so he was sitting next to Kirill.
Kirill waved off the thanks, tried to sound more nonchalant than he felt. "You looked thirsty. Was the least I could do."
"I did?" The man laughed softly, knowingly, and Kirill felt himself harden more as warmth rushed to his cheeks. "And what else do I look like?"
"Uh..." Kirill blinked, took a swallow of his drink. "I suppose..." A host of inappropriate responses came to mind and were quickly dismissed. "New around here?" Without the vodka, Kirill would have winced at the horrible cliché. Even with it bolstering his nerves, he nearly did.
A nod. "Da. I am. New to London." He tapped the paper, which Kirill saw was open to the classifieds. The man offered him his hand. "Nikolai."
"Kirill." Nikolai took his hand in a firm, certain grip, though did Kirill imagine a soft brush of fingertips against his wrist? He must have. It was the vodka. For once, Kirill regretted the earlier drinks, each sip nibbling away at the sort of fierce clarity he saw in Nikolai's blue eyes.
"I'd like to repay your kindness." Nikolai drained the drink in several swallows.
"I..." Kirill bit his lip, tried not to think about the muscles in Nikolai's neck tightening around his cock as he thrust into his mouth. "I don't need money."
"I didn't mention money, did I?" Nikolai's look was frank, appraising, and if there was any doubt about the coin he offered, the hand settling on Kirill's thigh, fingers just brushing the bulge in his pants, the look removed all doubt.
Kirill's throat constricted. He tensed, certain he should run, call for his men. Instead, he watched Nikolai walk into the men's room. He turned his attention back to his drink, sipping it carefully before knocking it back in two swallows. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and followed Nikolai into the restroom. He nearly bolted when another man emerged as he was heading in, but only the fact that would look stranger than him going in kept him moving forward.
Nikolai stood at one of the sinks, washing his hands. His gaze met Kirill's in the mirror, then dropped. He smiled as his gaze lingered on Kirill's fly. Kirill took a half step back as Nikolai turned, then froze as a warm hand cupped him through his jeans. His hips jerked forward, pressing against Nikolai's palm as he swallowed a moan.
"I think there is something you need, da? Something that is not money?"
Not trusting his voice, Kirill simply nodded, and Nikolai smiled, tugged him into one of the stalls, locked the door behind them.
If buying the drink was wrong, this was worse. Buying a drink could be laughed off, explained away. Squeezing into a bathroom stall with another man who was pressed against you as he undid your pants, there was only one explanation for that. Kirill gasped as Nikolai freed his cock, curled strong fingers around it, started stroking.
Nikolai leaned in until his lips brushed Kirill's ear. "I'm going to fuck you, Kirill."
Holy fucking god. Kiril thrust into Nikolai's hand, swallowed a moan.
"I'm going to fuck you like you've always wanted it. Hard and dirty." Nikolai's fingers tightened, and Kirill's cock twitched as he drew a sharp breath. "And you're going to be quiet, because anyone could walk in here at any time, and you don't want them knowing you're taking it up the ass, do you?"
Kirill shook his head. He didn't want that, couldn't have it, couldn't have people talking more than they already did.
"Ask for it." Nikolai said as he turned Kirill around, pressed him against the wall. "Ask for what you want, Kirill."
"Fuck me." The words were little more than a whisper, and the sound of Nikolai undoing his own pants nearly muffled it. Kirill swallowed, then murmured only a bit louder, "Fuck me. Please, Kolya. Fuck me." The familiar name wasn't appropriate for a stranger, but then neither was fucking in a public restroom.
Slick fingers pressed into Kirill, who rose up on the balls of his feet until a firm hand on his shoulder pulled him back down. Kirill's brow furrowed as Nikolai's fingers moved, stretching him. The sensation wasn't strange, not exactly unpleasant, but not pleasant either. Then Nikolai's fingers curled, brushed against something that made Kirill start and bite down hard on his lip to stifle a cry.
"That's it." Nikolai nipped at the back of Kirill's neck as he slid his fingers free and thrust slowly but steadily into him.
Kirill's back arched as he gasped. He bit down on the leather of his jacket, pressed his face into it and his arm in order to muffle the sounds he couldn't stop. He was sweated and shaking by the time Nikolai was buried in him, and he nearly came from Nikolai curling his fingers back around his cock.
"Say it again."
"Fuck me, Kolya. Oh god, fuck me."
Then Nikolai's hips were moving, the thrusts as firm as his earlier handshake. Each one drove Kirill into Nikolai's hand, which tightened deliciously around his cock. Kirill groaned. It felt so good, better than he'd imagined it could, the ache building in his balls until he wasn't sure he could take more, until he was certain he never wanted it to stop. Nikolai's thumb skidded across the head of his cock and Kirill came harder than ever had before.
"Kirill?"
Kirill tensed, jerked. It was his driver? What were his men doing in the pub? He hadn't called for them. They couldn't... He shuddered, still caught between Nikolai's cock and his hand, still being fucked even though the thrusts brought more pain than pleasure. They couldn't find him like this. His father... Oh, god, his father....
"Kirill?"
Kirill whimpered. They were coming, and they'd find him like this, and... Something broke inside Kirill's chest. And...he didn't care. Didn't care that his father would have Nikolai executed, didn't care that he might wish for the same fate when his father was through with him. All that mattered was this moment, this feeling. All that mattered was being who he was, getting what he really needed just one time.
"Kirill!"
###
"You were dreaming. I wasn't sure...if I should wake you."
"Da. Dreaming." Kirill dragged a hand through his hair, let it fall to the table, knocking over a glass long emptied of vodka when he realized his jeans were sticky from that dream.
Nikolai released Kirill, gripped his shoulder once before releasing him. He righted the glass. "Do you want a drink? You look thirsty."